


#CapLovesFalcon

by mrs_d



Series: #SayIDo [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (so much wedding planning), Engagement, Family Dynamics, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, POV Multiple, Pinterest, Social Media, Twitter, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, gratuitous use of love songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 39,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7704295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The wild and winding journey of Sam & Steve's engagement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fight (2 Days Before)

**Author's Note:**

> You wanted it, you got it.
> 
> UPDATE [2016-09-08]: Check out [the lovely Falcondiment's fabulous version of Steve's sketch](http://falcondiment.tumblr.com/post/150143121620/mrsdawnaways-fic-caplovesfalcon-is-the-samsteve) on Tumblr! <3

Maria Hill, former Assistant Director of SHIELD, former Head of Security for Stark Industries, current Director of the new Avengers team, and current wedding planner to Captain America and the Falcon, was eating dinner alone in her apartment the night before the rehearsal, and she couldn’t be happier about it.

They were getting on the plane at 9 the next morning, and all Maria had left to do was pack her toothbrush. She’d given the final head count to the caterer. She’d confirmed the time and location for the delivery of the flowers and cake. She’d talked to the photographer about taking some candid shots at the rehearsal tomorrow. She’d talked to the pastor, who had actually written down the wrong rehearsal time, so she corrected her and double-checked that she had the right time for the ceremony itself. She’d called the DJ and left a reminder message. She’d called the formalwear shop, confirming that she’d pick up the guys’ suits first thing in the morning. She’d even texted the girls, just to make sure they had their dresses, even though she knew they’d picked them up last week. She’d picked up her own dress, plus a business suit for the rehearsal, and had spent all day breaking in her new heels.

In other words, she was as ready as she could be for this wedding, and she felt pretty damn good about that.

She ordered a pizza and, on a whim, made herself a scotch and soda to go with it. She watched trashy reality TV for two hours after dinner and collapsed into bed before 10. She breathed in, breathed out, in the darkness of her bedroom, thinking, _I’ve done all I can do. It’ll all be over in 48 hours._

She fell asleep in the middle of a fantasy about what she was going to do with the money Sam and Steve were paying her. A trip to Jamaica, maybe, or a cruise. One of those vacations where she wouldn’t have to worry about anything aside from where to put her towel and how to get to the bar for a refill.

So when her phone rang a little after midnight, her first thought was that she shouldn’t have tempted fate.

“Need you on Steve’s floor,” said Barnes without so much as a _Hello_. “Bring your gun and a cartridge of blanks.”

He hung up before she could reply, and for a minute — maybe longer, she might have dozed off — Maria thought maybe it had been a dream. Then her screen lit up again with a message from Natasha.

_Please tell me you’re on your way._

Maria sighed and threw off the covers. _Yeah_ , she sent back, grabbing her gun from the nightstand and heading to the closet to get some blanks. _I’m on my way._

* * *

Steve and Sam’s apartment was six floors up from Maria’s in their new Avengers HQ, and Maria could hear muffled voices as soon as the elevator doors chimed open. The wedding party — Bucky, Natasha, Jim Rhodes, and Sam’s sister Sarah — was huddled in the hall looking awkward when Maria arrived. The lovebirds were nowhere in sight, but Maria could hear their raised voices chasing and overlapping each other out of the apartment.

“You ever notice that? Every time we fight, it’s about—”

“Every time? We never even had a damn fight until you decided—”

“—something I supposedly did, Sam. Well, I’m not perfect, sweetheart!”

“Obviously! You’re the dumbass who wanted to get married!”

“What the hell is going on?” Maria asked over the noise.

Rhodey shrugged, Natasha and Bucky exchanged a glance, and Sarah just shook her head. Maria knew she’d been up since 5, and she looked exhausted.

“You bring the blanks?” Natasha asked.

Maria nodded. She pulled her loaded gun out of its holster and displayed the magazine.

“Good. We’ll back you up,” said Jim. “Come on, Buck.”

His cybernetic leg braces whirred as he pushed himself away from the wall, and he hauled Barnes with him. Bucky went meekly — he was still a little twitchy around Jim, though sharing best man duties, even just for two months, had seen them both mending a few fences.

The apartment door was ajar, and the shouting didn’t pause when Barnes pushed it open the rest of the way. There was an open suitcase on the couch, and Sam was throwing shirts and socks out of it haphazardly while Steve pawed through the wedding decor that Maria had so carefully arranged on the kitchen table before she left six hours ago to have dinner and relax.

A hot flash of anger and hurt swept through her, and, as she raised the gun to the ceiling, she had a split-second of pure gratitude that it was loaded only with blanks.

The motion of her arm must have caught Steve’s eye because he was already moving by the time Maria pulled the trigger. He threw himself between Sam and Maria at the first shot, shoved Sam down at the second, and had curled into a ball in front of Sam’s head, his face tucked to the floor and his hand between Sam’s shoulder blades, by the time the third shot rang out.

In the silence that followed, Barnes muttered, “Fucking finally,” and Steve lifted his head, seeming to realize what had just happened.

“Man, get off me,” Sam ordered, pushing away from Steve as best he could, given that he was still flat on his stomach.

Steve let go at once and got to his feet, offering Sam a hand up, which Sam pointedly ignored.

“Fine,” Steve mumbled. He dropped his hand and turned away, his jaw clenched tight.

“Come on, Sam,” said Sarah. Maria turned to see her coming across the living room, gingerly avoiding the clothes that littered the rug. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“All right,” Sam said flatly, not taking his eyes off Steve’s turned back.

Sarah had to take Sam’s elbow and tug him towards the door before his feet started moving. He nodded at Maria as he passed, not grateful, exactly, but apologetic, maybe.

Steve turned around and watched them silently grab their jackets and go, staring after them for a long moment. His blue eyes shone and his cheeks were flushed bright pink, but he didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe, until Barnes said, “Let’s get out of here, too, Steve.”

“Maria,” Steve said quietly, when he got to the door and turned back.

“Yeah?”

He stared at her, resigned and defeated in a way that she’d never seen before. “Never mind,” he muttered finally, and he let Bucky lead him away.

Maria waited until she’d heard the stairwell door click shut before she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Natasha came into the apartment and surveyed the damage while Jim cleared enough space on the couch to sit down, his braces creaking slightly with the movement.

“Well, that was fun,” said Natasha at length.

She crossed the room and started picking up the decor that Steve had mauled. Maria, unsure what else to do, tucked her gun in its holster and did the same, while Jim started re-folding laundry and setting it back in the open suitcase beside him.

“I thought they’d never quit,” he said. “I’ve never seen them go at it like that before, Nat, have you?”

“No,” Natasha admitted. “Nothing more than a little spat here and there.”

“What in the hell started it?” asked Maria.

Jim let out a laugh that was more like a cough. “The guest book.”

“The guest book?” Maria repeated. She scanned the items strewn all over the kitchen, but she didn’t see it. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen it.

“Don’t bother,” said Natasha, noticing what Maria was doing. “There isn’t one.”

“Hence the fight,” Jim put in.

“Sam thought Steve had ordered it two months ago, and Steve thought Sam—” Natasha started to explain, but Maria held up a hand, silencing her.

“Wait, wait. You mean to tell me that this,” she said, gesturing at the mess around them, “ _all_ this — is because neither of them ordered a _guest book?”_

“That’s about the long and short of it, yeah,” said Jim. He was eyeing her warily, like she might explode, too.

Maria blinked, processing that, and then she started laughing.

“Are you serious?” she wheezed after a moment. “I’ll just go to the dollar store tomorrow and pick up something cheap. Problem solved.”

Natasha set a half-empty package of floating candles down on the table with a soft thump. “That’s what I suggested.”

“But they wanted a special one, something from Etsy. Custom-made, probably hand-painted with unicorn tears or some shit,” Jim explained, rolling his eyes.

“And only that will do,” Maria sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I would say something about them being Bridezillas here, but—”

“Groomthulus,” Natasha called from beneath the kitchen table, where she was gathering up the candles that had rolled away.

“That’s the one,” Jim agreed, pointing at her.

“And anyway, you know how stressed they’ve been this last week,” Nat went on, slotting the candles back into their package.

“They’ve been stressed always,” Jim corrected her, still folding laundry. “So an argument about the guest book became an argument about trust, and an argument about trust became—”

“An argument about the future,” Maria concluded with another heavy sigh. To think, she’d been sleeping less than an hour ago. “But they’re so solid,” she protested. “They’ve never doubted each other before...”

“Welcome to wedding planning hell,” said Natasha.

“Abandon all hope, ye who enter here,” Jim murmured.

“Christ,” Maria swore. “I need a drink.”

Natasha went to the fridge and pulled out three of Sam’s beers. At Maria’s curious look, she shrugged. “Call it overtime pay.”

“Hear, hear,” said Jim, accepting a bottle from Natasha.

Maria twisted off the top and took a cold, soothing swallow. After a moment, she felt better, capable and ready to take charge. _Just another crisis_ , she thought, _no need to fret._ They’d brought down Project Insight for crying out loud, and with fewer resources — they could handle a guest book.

“Okay,” she said at last. “What we need is a plan, a way to fix this. We know they’re solid, even if they don’t, and I’ll be damned if I’m gonna let a guest book ruin their wedding. Not after everything they’ve been through, and not after all the work we’ve put into it.”

“I’m with you, Director Hill,” Natasha said.

Her tone was joking, but her eyes were as loyal and serious as ever. Normally, Maria would look away — she’d told herself to look away for years now — but it’d been getting harder and harder not to fall into those eyes lately, and tonight she let her Director face slip a little, let herself be reeled in. She smiled, and Natasha smiled back, soft and sincere.

“Let’s finish cleaning this up,” Maria went on, forcing her mind to focus on the task at hand. “Then we’ll start brainstorming solutions. We ought to be able to find them a damn guest book before morning.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Jim. He raised his bottle. “To not letting these idiots ruin their own wedding.”

“Na Zdorovie,” Natasha declared.

“Na Zdorovie,” Maria repeated. She polished off her beer in one long pull and thunked down the empty bottle. “Let’s get to work.”


	2. The Proposal (183 Days Before)

“I don’t know why you’re so nervous,” Bucky drawled from the doorway.

Steve glared at him from the corner of his eye. Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, aggressively casual in sweatpants and a white tank top. He’d taken his prosthetic out of its socket, and his hair was still loose and damp from his post-mission shower.

“Where’s Natasha?” Steve asked, choosing not to address Bucky’s comment.

“Sleeping,” Bucky replied. “Turns out preventing an assassination is just as exhausting as doing the assassinating yourself.”

Steve hummed, non-committal, and went back to his tie. He knew there’d been a lot more to Nat’s assignment than that, but Bucky didn’t; Natasha would fill him in later, Steve had no doubt.

“Wow,” Bucky said dryly, when Steve untied the knot to redo it for the third time. “I haven’t seen you tie a tie more than twice since that morning briefing with Peggy.”

“I just can’t get it to look right,” Steve muttered, only a little defensive.

“That’s what you said then, too. Before I took pity on you.”

Bucky pushed himself off the doorframe and came to stand in front of Steve, his back to the mirror. Steve took his hands away from his tie and waited.

“I ain’t doing it for you,” Bucky told him with a chuckle. “I just took my arm out, I’m not putting it back in for this.”

Steve blew out a frustrated breath. “Then what—?”

“Show me your technique, you big lump,” said Bucky, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

Steve rolled his eyes a little, but he went back to the tie regardless — for the _fourth_ time, Jesus H.—

“Okay, there’s your problem,” Bucky said abruptly. “You have to tighten the loop more before you pull the long piece through, otherwise it’ll look loose and saggy.”

Steve did as Bucky told him and finished the knot. “Like this?”

“Perfect,” said Bucky with a grin, stepping aside so Steve could check his handiwork in the mirror. “You look good, Stevie.”

“You think?” asked Steve uncertainly. He twisted, examining the tie from all angles. “It still seems a little—”

“Steve,” said Bucky softly, all joking gone from his tone. “You’re not really nervous about your tie, are you?”

Steve stopped fiddling with his outfit and sighed. “No. I’m not.”

“I know.” Bucky slung his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “But I also know that it’ll be fine. Sam loves you, Steve.”

“I know, but—”

“And, besides, didn’t he already tell you he’d say yes?”

“Well yeah, but—”

“And he knows you’re going to ask him tonight, right?”

“That’s right, but—”

“No more buts,” Bucky said firmly. He pulled Steve tight for another second, then let him go. “It’ll be fine,” he repeated. “Now go. Propose to your boyfriend, so I can make squealy noises, like the best friends do in all those terrible movies Nat makes me watch with her.”

Steve laughed. “If you really hate those, Buck, I’m sure she’d let you pick something different.”

“Nah,” said Bucky. His eyes were sparkling. “It’s not about the movies anyway.”

Steve just nodded. He didn’t say anything more about Bucky and Natasha’s relationship — because that’s what it was, no matter how many times they insisted they were just hanging out or fooling around. Instead, he put his hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Squealy noises or not, you’ll stand up with me on the day, right?” he asked, the question coming out more seriously than he’d meant it to.

“Yeah,” Bucky said with no hesitation. “You want me there, I’m there.”

“Thanks,” said Steve.

Bucky smiled at him for a second, then sighed and shook his head. “It’s so weird, Stevie, when I think about it. All those years, this is what I wanted for you. To be healthy, happy. Married. Didn’t think it’d be like this, though.”

“It just took a little longer to get here is all,” said Steve. “We took the scenic route.”

Bucky huffed out a little laugh, but his eyes were still far away. “Sometimes I think it would have been easier if you’d just knocked Carter up. Little wedding in the base chapel, uniforms instead of flowers. Then you could’ve had somebody waiting for you at the end of the war. You wouldn’t’ve had to...”

He trailed off, and Steve tightened his grip, pulling Bucky into a hug.

“No sense dwelling on the past, Buck,” he said, the words coming through the little lump that had formed in his throat. He’d told himself the same thing enough times, but the picture Bucky had painted, the could-have-beens, still stung once in a while.

“I know,” Bucky murmured into his shoulder. “Like I said, it’s just weird.”

Steve let go and stepped back. “It is that,” he agreed.

Bucky gave him a slightly watery smile and cuffed him on the shoulder again before he headed for the door. “Don’t keep Sam waiting.”

“I won’t. Thanks, Buck,” Steve called after him.

He waited for the distinctive click of the stairwell door — Bucky never took elevators if he could help it — before he grabbed his keys and the single red rose that he’d bought that afternoon. He patted his pocket, felt the reassuring lump of the velvet ring box, and then headed out the door.

Sam and Steve lived together, technically, but Sam had his own apartment on the same floor as Maria’s, where he slept if Steve was out on a solo mission. He said he enjoyed having a smaller bed all to himself, when there was no risk of Steve hogging the blankets, but Steve knew the truth; Sam didn’t like being in their bed without him. Steve understood — he slept on the bedroom floor when Sam was gone, if he slept at all.

But tonight the separate apartment was serving another purpose: making their date special. Steve had to go to Sam’s door, hand him the rose, and kiss him hello. It was courtship like Steve had never done before — life and its dangerous circumstances kept getting in the way.

As he rode the elevator down, Steve thought about the first time he’d asked Sam to marry him and smiled ruefully. Sam deserved better than that. He deserved so many good things that Steve worried he wouldn’t be able to give him. But whenever he expressed that out loud, Sam just kissed him and said the feeling was mutual.

They’d been together since Insight went down, nearly five years ago now — far too long, in Steve’s mind, to be living in sin, but hopefully someday his Catholic mother would forgive him. She’d always known and accepted that Steve was going to love who he was going to love, regardless of gender, but he had a feeling that she’d have liked him to marry Sam a lot sooner.

But it had, as he’d told Bucky, taken him a little longer to get here. After the Accords, they’d needed time to clear their names and establish themselves as the good guys again. Once his team — Sam, Bucky, Natasha, Scott, and Wanda — had settled into a routine, Steve had raised the question of marriage again, and Sam’s answer was the same, although he did have one condition.

“It probably sounds stupid. I know we’ve been together long enough that we could just go ahead and say, _Yep, we’re engaged now_ , but—” Sam sighed. “I’d like to be asked. You only get one shot at being proposed to, after all. Or, well, I guess this is our second one, but...”

It was so rare for Sam to fumble over his words that Steve could tell that this was something he really needed. He nudged Sam’s chin up and kissed him once, tender and familiar.

“I’ll ask,” he assured him. “Give me a week, and I’ll ask.”

Under Steve’s hand, Sam’s face was warm with embarrassment, but he smiled. “Give me a week, and I’ll say yes.”

And now that week was up.

Steve knocked on Sam’s door with a slightly shaking hand, promising himself he’d give Sam the proposal he deserved, even though he had no idea how he was going to do that yet.

“Why hello, gorgeous,” said Sam when he opened the door. His smile put Steve at ease. “You’re not late for once.”

“Sometimes I surprise even myself,” Steve replied, handing him the rose.

“Witty,” Sam remarked, raising his eyebrows. “If it weren’t for the sweat stains, I’d think you weren’t nervous at all.”

“Sweat—?” Horrified, Steve looked down at his shirt and lifted his arms slightly to check, but Sam just laughed.

“Made you look,” he teased. “Now come here and gimme some sugar.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but he leaned in anyway and gave Sam what was supposed to be a brief kiss. Sam grabbed his shirt, though, when Steve tried to pull back.

“Haven’t seen you since this morning, I need more sugar than that,” he said against Steve’s lips.

Steve obligingly opened his mouth and met Sam’s tongue, as hot and rough as ever. Sam’s thin mustache scraped Steve’s skin, leaving a trail that tingled along the edge of his upper lip. The cellophane wrapper of the rose in Sam’s hand crinkled, drowning out Steve’s sudden gasp as Sam’s fingers slid down his back and pinched his ass before he let go and stepped back with a sly grin on his face.

“Tease,” Steve muttered, wincing as he adjusted the crotch of his nicest slacks.

“You love me,” Sam said carelessly, turning on his heel to head inside.

“I do,” Steve sighed as he followed him through the door and closed it behind him.

Sam chuckled again. “You’re not supposed to say that part yet, baby. This is just the proposal.”

“Right. Sorry,” Steve said.

He opened his mouth to go on, maybe to ask the question right then, to blurt it out or make a joke about when Sam thought he could say _I do_ , but the wording wasn’t right, and anyway, he didn’t want to joke about this, even though Sam probably wouldn’t mind.

So he settled for leaning against the wall inside the door, watching and waiting while Sam filled a narrow vase with water and unwrapped the rose. He lowered it into the vase, sniffing it periodically with a smile that made Steve melt a little.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam said when he caught Steve’s expression. “You did good.”

Steve grinned and ducked his head, embarrassed but pleased.

Sam shrugged into his suit jacket before heading to the bathroom. He left the door open, allowing Steve to catch a whiff of his favorite cologne. Sam must have smuggled it out of their apartment that afternoon, Steve realized, to make this even more special. He was about to comment on that when Sam’s phone vibrated and chirped three times on the kitchen counter.

“Do you want me to check that?” Steve called.

“Nah, it’s just my sister,” Sam explained, coming back into the foyer and stepping into his shoes. “I may have let it slip that tonight was an important night, and she’s been pestering me about it ever since.”

“Oh. Good pestering, I hope?” Steve asked.

“Always,” Sam replied. He stole a kiss as he leaned in to take his keys from the hook by the door. “You ready?”

Something clicked in Steve’s brain between the spark of Sam’s lips against his and the familiar question. It was the same question Steve asked before every mission, the same question Sam asked before every aerial maneuver — and Steve reached for Sam even as the pieces were still falling into place, as the possibility, and then the certainty, of this moment being The Moment bloomed up in his thoughts.

He laid a hand on Sam’s wrist, stopping him when he reached for the doorknob, and slid it up until he was cupping Sam’s jaw, looking steadily into Sam’s puzzled eyes. He smiled, and when Sam smiled back, Steve reeled him in and kissed him, deep and slow and languid. As he did, he pulled the ring box from his jacket pocket with his other hand.

“I’m ready if you are,” he said when he pulled back, giving Sam the same answer they always gave each other. He pressed the velvet box into Sam’s palm and looked once more into Sam’s eyes. “Will you marry me?”

Sam’s jaw dropped, and he blinked a few times without speaking. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he murmured at last. “Sarah owes me ten bucks.”

Steve was surprised into letting out the breath he was holding. “Excuse me?”

“She said you’d wait till after dinner,” Sam explained, “but I knew you’d never have the patience for that.”

Steve raised his eyebrows; he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “So...?”

“Oh my god, Steve, the answer is yes,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “I already told you I’d say yes, you don’t need to give me the sad puppy eyes.”

“But they’re just so effective,” Steve tried to argue, but he was laughing.

“Don’t I know it,” Sam muttered, kissing the grin off his face and handing the box back to Steve so he could open it. “Now bling me up, I gotta Snapchat Sarah and brag.”

* * *

It really was a beautiful ring, Steve thought, when Sam reached for his nearly empty wine glass after they’d finished their meal.

Steve had had gold in mind, but Natasha had talked him out of it, and she’d been right. The silver was bright on Sam’s finger, while the rectangle of tiny, ethically-sourced black diamonds — pavé, whatever that meant — glinted in the low light of the restaurant. It was classy, fancier than a wedding band, but still subtle enough for everyday wear. It was perfect, and Steve had a strong feeling that he’d be sending Nat thank you notes and flowers for the rest of his life.

“So, uh,” Sam said, after he’d drained the last mouthful of wine and set his glass back down. “I maybe wasn’t entirely honest, earlier.”

Steve’s dreamy thoughts vanished all at once. “What do you mean?”

Sam looked away. His newly-decorated hand disappeared under the tablecloth with a rustle of fabric. “Remember when I told you what Sarah said, about our bet?”

“Yeah?”

“Well,” Sam said, still not meeting Steve’s eyes, “she actually bet me that you’d chicken out and that I’d have to do it. I told her she was crazy, that you were the bravest guy I ever met, but....”

Sam brought his hand up again, and he held a ring box of his own.

Steve’s mouth fell open.

“I got this for you anyway,” Sam concluded. “Figured it was only fair, since you got me one.”

“I— I don’t know what to say,” Steve stammered, when Sam had set the box between their hands on the table.

Sam smiled, looked into eyes, and shrugged. “Yes?”

Steve felt his cheeks heat, and he couldn’t help giving Sam a bit of a hard time for that. “You didn’t even ask me anything,” he accused.

Sam huffed out a little sigh and shook his head. “Steve, you want to get married?”

“Sure, someday,” Steve replied casually, then he did an exaggerated double take. “Oh, you mean to _you?_ ” He winced. “Gee, Sam, I don’t know...”

“You are such an asshole,” Sam said fondly.

“That’s payback for the sweat stains,” Steve replied, laughing when Sam rolled his eyes. “You love me,” he added, parroting Sam’s words back to him.

Sam nodded. “For some reason, yeah.”

Steve lifted himself slightly out of his chair and gave Sam a slow, hot kiss across the table — he’d reserved a private room for exactly this reason.

“Of course I’ll marry you,” he said more seriously when he pulled back, licking the dry tang of Sam’s red wine off his lips. “You’re marrying me, after all.”

“For some reason,” Sam said again, his eyes still dancing with laughter.

Steve picked up the ring box and untied the ribbon on top, slowly and reverently. At last, he shot Sam one more excited look — Sam winked back at him — and lifted the lid.

He gasped. “Oh, Sam.”

“You like it, baby?” Sam asked, his voice a low purr, though Steve could hear the slight undercurrent of nerves.

Steve tore his eyes away. “I love it,” he murmured.

“I’m glad,” Sam said softly. “It’s vintage. From the 50s. I know it’s not quite your era, but—”

“Close enough,” Steve replied.

His eyes fell back on the ring, tracing the square gemstone and the little ridges that led down from the tiny diamonds on either side of the big one. It was gold, except for the gem’s setting, which was bright silver — white gold, probably, he corrected himself.

“It’s perfect,” he said out loud.

“Here,” said Sam, reaching over. “Let me put it on you.”

Steve’s heart fluttered in his chest when Sam lifted the ring from its box and took Steve’s hand. The ring slid on, smooth and cool and easy. Steve bit his bottom lip at the startlingly arousing sensation, and inhaled sharply when Sam kissed the back of his hand.

“Gorgeous,” Sam breathed. He shifted slightly in his seat, and Steve knew Sam was feeling it too, the heat that was building between them.

“You want to get out of here?” Steve asked, his throat dry.

Sam nodded quickly. “Yeah, let’s go home.”

* * *

Later — when Steve felt limp and wrung out like a wet rag; when Sam had curled up in Steve’s arms; when their breathing had slowed and their sweat had cooled — Sam mumbled, “Goddamn, I love you,” and Steve tightened his hold.

“Love you, too,” he murmured against the nape of Sam’s neck.

“We should probably shower,” Sam went on after a moment, his voice drowsy, “but I’m not moving.”

“Me neither,” Steve agreed.

“Good,” said Sam. Steve felt him adjust his pillow in that slight motion that meant he was preparing to shift from cuddling to sleeping. “We’re gonna need the rest. Tomorrow’s a big day.”

Steve frowned and opened his eyes. “Big day?” he repeated. “What’s tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, my dear fiancé,” Sam slurred, “is the day we start planning a wedding.”

“Oh,” Steve whispered. Sam didn’t reply; he was already asleep. “I hadn’t thought about that.”


	3. Not-Planning (182 Days Before)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you familiar with the Wilson family from the comic books will no doubt notice that I adjusted Sam's family from the comics canon to suit the story I am telling.

They actually didn’t start planning right away. In fact, all Sam did that first day was call his parents, and that, he decided, was exhausting enough.

It started out all right; Dad was stoic but loving, a man of few words, as his sister put it.

“Congratulations,” he said simply. “Proud of you, son. Steve’s a good man.”

“I think so, too,” Sam replied, breathing out a little sigh of relief. He hadn’t been quite sure what reaction the news would have, but this one was the best. “Thanks, Pop.”

“Now your mother’s all but grabbing the phone outta my hand,” his father went on with a chuckle. “So I’ll let her have it. But you need anything, you let me know, all right?”

“All right, Dad, thanks,” Sam said again, but he wasn’t sure how much of it his dad heard, since his mother came on the line less than a second later.

“Oh, baby, I’m so happy for you,” Mama gushed in one breath and in the next asked, “Have you picked a date yet?”

“We— uh, no,” Sam stammered. “We only got engaged last night—”

“Last night? And the first thing you did was call us, that’s so sweet. Did he take you out?”

“Yeah, we went to a little—”

“And did he get down on one knee for you, do it right?”

Sam rolled his eyes. Maybe he should just let her tell the story. “Actually, he asked before we left, so—”

“That’s just lovely, sweetheart, I’m so happy,” she said again. “Now for the big question: did he get you a ring?”

“Mama—”

“I know, I know, you guys have your own codes and whatnot, and I know neither of you’s the girl, but if he asked, he’d better’ve—”

“Yes, Mama,” Sam interrupted. “He got me a ring. I’ll send you a picture.”

“Don’t go to that much trouble, Samuel, just put it on Facebook,” she said dismissively. “That way everyone’ll see.”

Sam hesitated, deciding not to tell her that Facebook would actually be more trouble, given that his and Steve’s relationship wasn’t public yet. He frowned, filing that thought away for further discussion down the road.

“How about I email it to you later today?” he suggested instead. “You can forward it out to the family if you want, but don’t put anything up on Facebook yet, okay? Not until we make an official announcement.”

“Okay, honey, whatever’s easier,” Mama said, but she didn’t sound convinced.

“I’ll send you a picture of the one I got him, too,” Sam added, knowing that that would distract her.

Sure enough, she practically squealed. “Oh, sweetheart, what a lovely idea! You boys are so progressive nowadays— I have to admit, when you first told me you were hooking up with Steve Rogers, I said to your father, _What’s our boy gotten himself into now?_ ”

“I know, I remember,” said Sam, rolling his eyes again.

“But he’s not as old-fashioned as I thought, baby, and I’m sorry I doubted him,” his mother continued, like Sam had never spoken. “He’s been nothing but good to you, and he’ll be a great husband, I just know it.”

“I— wow, thanks, Mama,” Sam replied softly, his throat suddenly a little tight. “I know he will, too.”

“He’d better,” she added. She sounded a little choked up as well but still vaguely threatening. “Because Captain America or no, if that boy hurts you, he’ll have me to answer to.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell him,” Sam said with a little laugh. “He wouldn’t dare mess with you.”

“Good,” she said briskly. “Now, have you thought about your theme yet? Or your colors? Because your cousin Alberta had a gorgeous wedding last winter. You didn’t see, you were off doing God knows what, and nobody holds that against you, baby, but they had purple and teal and white, and guess what the bouquets had in them?”

“Peacock feathers,” Sam intoned dully; he’d heard about Alberta’s wedding enough times now that he didn’t even need to have been there.

“Peacock feathers! What an idea! And I think Lenore still has some if you and Steve—”

“Mama,” Sam cut in, deciding it was best to just nip this in the bud. “We’re not having peacock feathers.”

“Well, you only just got engaged, baby, don’t rule it out yet.”

“Mama,” Sam said more firmly. “Do you know what they call me?”

“What they— what?”

“I’m the _Falcon_ , Mama,” he reminded her. “I can’t have feathers at my wedding, I’d never live that down.”

He wasn’t technically lying — no doubt Bucky could come up with fifty bird jokes inside of a minute if he really put his mind to it — but it was gentler than telling his mother that he thought peacock feathers were ugly as sin.

“Oh,” she chuckled after a moment. “I understand. But any help you need with the planning and decorating, you know your daddy and I are here for you, okay?”

“I know,” said Sam sincerely. “And thanks.”

“But no date yet, huh?” she continued, and Sam could almost hear her shaking her head. “Better get on that, unless you’re planning on a long engagement.”

“Well, we haven’t really—”

“A lot of venues’ll book up six, seven months in advance, and if there’s a photographer you like, you better get him quick, too. And if you’re going for a band...”

She kept talking, piling up details that Sam hadn’t even thought of, things like napkins, hors d’oeuvres, and chair covers. He could feel a tension headache starting in his temples while he tried not to drown in the tidal wave of wedding logistics that hadn’t occurred to him whenever he’d thought about how nice it would be to marry Steve.

“I’m sorry, Mama, but I should get going. Lots to do,” Sam interrupted finally. “Steve and I’ll sit down and make some decisions, and we’ll get back to you when we have more details, okay?”

“All right, Samuel, you do what you have to do,” his mother replied brightly. “Just keep me in the loop. Give that fiancé of yours a kiss from me, all right?”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, Mama, will do.”

“And don’t you let him jump out of any planes, or whatever it is that boy does for fun. He’s my son now, too, and I barely got enough worry for one of you, let alone both.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam laughed. “I’ll keep him grounded.”

“Good man. Love you, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

Sam disconnected and set the phone on the kitchen counter. He groaned a little and leaned forward after it, pressing his forehead to the cool surface.

He looked up a few minutes later when he heard soft footsteps and saw Steve come into the kitchen, balancing his laptop on his wrist.

“Hey,” Steve greeted him, setting the computer down with its screen facing away. “How are your parents?”

“They’re good,” said Sam. “Mission stuff?” he asked, pointing at the laptop.

Steve shook his head. “No, nothing like that.”

“Too bad,” Sam sighed, leaning into Steve’s solid warmth. “Mama stressed me out a bit, talking about wedding stuff, I could use a distraction. What are you working on?”

Steve hesitated for just a second before he closed the laptop with a gentle click. “It can wait,” he said, tugging Sam towards the couch. “What was she talking about?” he asked, once they were settled.

“Oh, lord,” Sam sighed. “What wasn’t she talking about?”

Steve didn’t say anything else; he just smiled at Sam with a dopey, love-struck expression.

“What?” Sam asked. “What’s that look for?”

“Where’s your family from again?” Steve asked.

Sam frowned, a bit annoyed. “New Orleans, you know that. Why?”

Steve grinned. “N’awlins,” he drawled, sounding exactly as dumb as one would expect Captain America would sound when faking a Southern accent.

“Shut your mouth,” Sam told him. His face was burning, but he was fighting off a grin of his own.

“There it is again,” Steve laughed. “Every time you talk to them you pick it up, I don’t know if you know that or not.”

“Yeah, yeah, like the same thing doesn’t happen when you and Bucky spend a lot of time together,” Sam retorted, poking Steve in his ridiculous chest. “It sounds like you just came back from New Yawk.”  

“Okay, you got me,” said Steve, catching Sam’s hand and pulling it to his lips. “I just like it is all.”

“Mm hmm,” Sam pretended to grumble, chasing his hand up to Steve’s mouth and giving him a long kiss. Steve leaned back into the arm of the sofa, letting Sam rest his weight against him, bringing his arms up to rub Sam’s lower back in small circles as his tongue slid out, darting between Sam’s lips in a gentle slide.

Sam pulled back a minute later and settled comfortably on Steve’s chest. “Thanks,” he said.

“For what?” asked Steve, his voice a low rumble against Sam’s ear.

“Making my stress go away,” Sam explained. He started to trace swirling patterns on Steve’s bicep, where the skin was surprisingly soft. “How’d you do that, anyway?”

“Sam. Please,” Steve scoffed. “I’m Captain America.”

Sam chuckled. He raised his head and pecked Steve on the lips again. “That can’t be it. That usually gives me more stress.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully and held Sam’s gaze. “Well, how about I’m your... fiancé,” he said after a pause, licking his lips like he was testing the flavor of the word, “and I declare this a wedding planning-free day?”

“I like the sound of that,” Sam said, meaning both the word and the idea. He stretched out his legs and rested his head against Steve’s chest again. “Let’s see what’s on TV.”

* * *

Wedding planning-free day became wedding planning-free week, and then two weeks, because they got called to Libya to deal with some HYDRA wannabes who probably didn’t know the super soldier serum from blue Kool-Aid, but they were mobilizing like they did.

Sam took his ring off the day they left and put it on the chain that used to carry his dog tags. It was a weird cold bump under his uniform for a few seconds until it warmed up, but he liked it; it felt safe there. Steve did the same, and as Sam watched him kiss the ring and tuck it away, there was a warm feeling in his chest that he didn’t think he’d ever felt before — he and Steve were connected through those little circles of metal, and nothing could separate them.

That didn’t mean, though, that the bad guys weren’t going to try.

Sam saw the grenade first, flying over the perimeter fence towards where he and Steve were fighting a couple of beefy goons, and he reacted without thought, without waiting for orders. He snapped out his wings and took off, catching the explosive in his arms like a small, dangerous football. He threw it back over the fence a split second later, but it was still too close to him when it detonated — the shock wave knocked his body back, closing his wings. He only fell the height of the fence, fifteen feet give or take, but it was enough.

“Ow,” he mumbled, when his back hit the dirt.

“Sam!” he heard Steve shout, somewhere off to his left. “Nat, Bucky, Sam’s down.”

“No, I’m not, I’m all right,” he called, flexing his back in preparation to get up.

“Like hell you are,” Steve shot back. “Don’t move, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Sam rolled his eyes since he knew Steve wouldn’t see it, and sat up, wincing a little. He’d be bruised, but nothing serious.

“What did I just say?” Steve demanded as he came into Sam’s line of sight. “Don’t move.”

“That an order, Cap?” Sam asked, rolling the kinks out of his neck.

There was a noise to his right before Steve could reply, and Sam turned to see the last bad guy coming near him, a bent pipe in his hands like a baseball bat. Sam raised his fists — there wasn’t much else he could do — but Steve’s new, Wakandan-made shield whizzed over Sam’s head, hitting the bad guy square in his chest. He went down, gasping for air, as the shield bounced back to Steve’s waiting hands.

“Yes,” Steve said furiously, dropping the shield and crouching at Sam’s side. “You’re goddamn right it’s an order, how could you—”

The rest of Steve’s words got lost when he gripped Sam’s shoulders and hauled him in close, smothering his mouth in a heated, sloppy kiss.

“Hey,” Sam tried to say, but Steve just kissed him harder.

Sam suddenly realized that Steve’s cheeks were wet. He eased back, a hand in the centre of Steve’s chest to stop him from surging forward. Despite the thick armor, Sam could feel, or maybe he just imagined he could feel, the steady lump of Steve’s ring on its chain.

“Hey,” he said again. “I’m all right, Steve, it’s all right.”

“You saved me,” Steve said.

“Just like you save me,” Sam reminded him. “Regular day at the office, sweetheart.”

Steve huffed out a little laugh and swiped at his face, smearing the damp grime around. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I know. Come on,” Sam said. “We got a job to do.”

Steve nodded, and Sam clasped his wrist. They pulled each other to their feet and went back to work.

* * *

That night, at the base, Steve daubed witch hazel on Sam’s bruises and dressed his minor abrasions with excessive care. When they got into bed, he hung on to Sam just a little tighter than he normally would, until finally Sam had to ask.

“Do you think we should retire?”

After a lengthy silence, Steve said, “Sometimes.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, me too. Sometimes.”

Steve sighed and let go of him. “But we’re doing good work. If we don’t do it, who will?”

He was right. With Tony and Rhodey retired, T’Challa busy running his own country, and Thor still off somewhere with Bruce, Sam knew that their small team was about it for Earth’s mightiest heroes. They still had a job to do, and nobody else was stepping forward to take their place.

But Sam had also heard this argument a few too many times, from soldiers in his group who wanted to get back in. _It’s a good fight_ , they’d say, _and I want to be a part of it_. They missed the action, the adrenaline, the camaraderie of war. These were the ones who re-enlisted for _just one more tour_ , and, more often than not, didn’t come home again, except in a coffin.

When Steve showed up at the VA, Sam had known he was one of those soldiers. And for all that losing Riley had pushed him out of the service, Sam knew in his heart of hearts that he was, too; he proved that when he ran off with Steve first chance he got.

For a fleeting moment, Sam imagined himself going back to the VA. _You thinking of getting out?_ the counsellor would ask, and, just like Steve, Sam wouldn’t have a straight answer. _No. Maybe. I don’t know._

“I get that,” Sam said finally. He turned over to find Steve staring at the ceiling.

“Sometimes I want to give it all up and have a normal life. With you,” Steve admitted. “But the bad guys keep coming, so I say to myself, _This isn’t the right time_. But maybe there’ll never be a right time,” he concluded in a low voice. “I want there to be, and I’ll fight like hell to get it, but...”

He trailed off, and Sam knew their thoughts were the same. If it wasn’t the right time to retire, if there’d never be a right time to give it all up and have a normal life together, then it wasn’t the right time to get married, either, and it wouldn’t ever be. Suddenly, going forward with this engagement seemed like a fool’s errand, an exercise in futility. A lie they were telling both themselves and each other.

But Sam didn’t say anything more, and neither did Steve, and eventually, Sam fell asleep.

* * *

For the rest of the mission, Sam didn’t bring up retirement again. He didn’t foresee that question being answered any time soon, and he was optimistic that, no matter what, he and Steve would figure it out; they were solid like that. No need to borrow trouble, as his mother would put it.

Still, the question niggled at him if he let it, and as soon as they were back stateside, he called his sister for advice while Steve was out with Bucky at a veterans’ charity dinner.

Sarah listened to Sam vent for a good fifteen minutes before she finally drew a deep breath and said, “You got nothing to worry about, Sam. Trust me.”

Sam blinked, torn between confusion and irritation. She’d said it so confidently, like one sentence could dismiss all of his concerns. “How do you know?”

“Sweetie, it’s called cold feet,” Sarah explained. “Granted, most people’s cold feet aren’t about fighting aliens and super-secret—”

“Cold feet,” Sam repeated. “ _Cold feet?”_

“Sammy, relax,” Sarah said soothingly. “Everybody goes through this right after they get engaged, it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Cold feet,” Sam said again. They seemed to be the only words he knew.

“Welcome to getting married,” said Sarah. “You’ve been engaged, what, two weeks? Shit’s starting to get real, that’s all. You’re starting to think, _Hey, this is important, and it’s forever_.” Sam could practically hear her shrug as she added, “Well, supposed to be forever.”

“Not helpful,” Sam muttered.

“Sorry,” his recently-divorced sister said quickly. “But even if it’s not forever, getting married is a big commitment, and I know it sounds cliché, but lots of people are afraid of that.”

“I’m afraid of commitment?” Sam shook his head, thinking of the ways he’d signed himself up for things all his life. “I don’t think that’s it.”

“Maybe you don’t realize it,” Sarah conceded. “It’s not like the movies, where you have this huge realization ten minutes before the ceremony. But, trust me, everybody gets cold feet.” She paused. “Especially when our mother is breathing down our necks about peacock feathers.”

That startled a laugh out of Sam. “You too, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” said Sarah, and Sam knew she was rolling her eyes. “I got married before Alberta went and did that, so I can only imagine how much worse it is for you, now that Mama’s seen them in person.”

“I think I dodged that bullet for now,” Sam told her, still chuckling. “Told her the Falcon couldn’t have a bird-themed wedding.”

Sarah laughed for a long time at that. Sam heard a small voice in the background ask, “Mommy, what’s so funny?”

“Uncle Sam’s being silly is all,” Sarah said, her voice muffled like she was covering the receiver. She came back a second later and asked, “You wanna talk to Jody?”

Sam grinned. Like he’d ever turn down the chance to make bird jokes with his five-year-old niece. “Sure.”

Jody told him all about her day at school, how her teacher thought she should compete in the spelling bee, but she wasn’t sure about it because the competition was on the same day as ballet.

“Well, you can probably miss one ballet class,” Sam said reasonably, but Jody cut him off.

“Uncle Sam, can I be in your wedding?”

“Uh,” said Sam, while Sarah scolded her in the background. “You mean you want to come to the wedding?”

“No, be _in_ your wedding,” Jody said again. “I could go down the aisle before you and throw flowers at people.”

Sam had to yank the phone away from his face so that he wouldn’t hurt Jody’s feelings by laughing so loudly at the mental image that she’d just conjured.

“Sorry about that,” said Sarah a second later. Sam could hear Jody whining behind her. “She’s wanted to ask you forever, and it’s kind of hard to explain that the point of our conversation tonight was to not stress you out about wedding stuff.”

“It’s cool,” Sam said. “Give her the phone back, I can handle it.”

He waited through his sister explaining to her daughter that she had to be polite, then smiled at the shuffle-clunk of the phone being dropped. Finally, Jody’s tiny voice said, “Hello?”

“So you want to be the flower girl, huh?” Sam asked her seriously.

“Can I?” Jody pleaded.

“I’ll have to ask Uncle Steve, but I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes. If you want to be the flower girl, you can have that job.”

An ear-piercing shriek came through the speaker in reply, and there was another shuffle before Sarah came back.

“She’s dancing,” she explained. “You just made her day.”

“Sorry if I made bedtime a lot harder for you in the process,” Sam apologized.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be the first person I call if we have a temper tantrum in an hour,” Sarah said. Sam could hear the grin in her voice. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No, thank you,” Sam replied earnestly. “You put things in perspective, I really appreciate that.”

“Hey, what are big sisters for?”

Sam hung up a few minutes later, feeling a hell of a lot better about everything. Sarah’s last piece of advice was to spend some quality time with his fiancé — _And I don’t mean just hanky-panky, Samuel_ — and stay away from the wedding planning stuff a little bit longer, to enjoy their new level of closeness without burdening themselves with too much responsibility.

He did look forward to telling Steve about how Jody wanted to throw flowers at people, though.


	4. The Planner (161 Days Before)

The following Friday, Maria called them both into her office on the ground floor of the tower and offered to be their wedding planner, presenting it in her usual, no-nonsense manner.

Sam blinked in surprise. “Why?” he couldn’t help asking.

“We never know what’s around the corner in this job,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows. “And I’d rather have a little more on my plate than worry about you and Rogers talking table linens in a foxhole when you should be talking strategy.”

“We wouldn’t—” Steve started to protest.

“And the fact of the matter,” said Maria, overriding him, “is that there’s not a whole lot of people we can trust. So I’ll be vetting potential vendors for you anyway, and if I’m already organizing all that, I figured I may as well offer to take care of the rest.”

“That’s, uh— that’s very kind of you, Ma’am,” said Steve, seeming to recover. “You’ll let us, um, pay you for your services, I hope?”

Maria smiled wryly. “I’m not generous enough to do things for free, Rogers, you should know that by now.”

“Good,” said Steve quickly. “How much, uh... I mean, what’s—?”

“Tell us what you think is fair,” Sam cut in, coming to Steve’s rescue. The poor guy was always so awkward about money; Sam figured it was because he still wasn’t used to having much of it.

“I’ll call some planners, figure out the going rate,” Maria assured them, getting to her feet. Sam and Steve did the same. “In the meantime, I’m giving you the weekend off to make some decisions. I want to have our first official planning session on Monday.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Steve, the same way he would respond to any of Maria’s orders.

“Great. I’ll see you then.” Maria looked to the door, and Sam had to resist the sudden urge to salute her on the way out.

“Well, that wasn’t quite what I was expecting,” he said while they were waiting for the elevator.

Steve shook his head. “Me neither. I guess we better get to work.”

The elevator arrived, and Sam hit the button for their floor. “No more wedding planning-free days,” he said, not without a certain amount of trepidation.

“We could have a wedding planning-free night, though,” Steve suggested.

He took Sam’s hand, brushing Sam’s ring with his thumb. Warmth was starting to pool in Sam’s belly at the look Steve was giving him.

“Okay,” Sam agreed, a little breathless, and Steve kissed him until the doors opened again.

* * *

It turned out that while Sam had been having wedding planning-free days, Steve had been busy. The next morning, he led Sam into their spare bedroom, which they had set up as an office and a studio if Steve got time to paint. He sank into one of the desk chairs; Sam took the other, placing their mugs of coffee down carefully beside Steve’s computer.

“I started out by asking Google about the first thing we should be doing,” Steve began, opening his laptop and touching the power button to wake it up. “I downloaded this checklist, but I haven’t done much with it yet. I didn’t want to stress you out.”

“Wow,” Sam said under his breath, scrolling through the 6-page — _6-page?!_ — document. His mother would have a conniption if she saw it. “Appreciate that, man.”

Steve nodded. “It seems the first thing we have to do is pick a date. Obviously I couldn’t do that without you, so I moved on.”

Steve bent over slightly, opening a lower drawer of the desk and pulling out a notebook that Sam had never seen before. It was crowded with loose pieces of paper that stuck out at odd angles.

“Oh my god,” Sam breathed. “Is that your wedding binder?”

“My what?” asked Steve, sounding completely baffled.

“Never mind,” said Sam quickly. “What have you got?”

Steve took a gulp of his coffee and breathed in like he was bracing himself to jump out of a plane. He flipped past the first few pages of the notebook and turned it in Sam’s direction.

“Okay. I started with something called a _Hard No_ list.”

“Sounds kinky,” Sam murmured, and Steve’s serious face cracked into a grin.

“We can make a kinky one, too, if you want,” he offered.

Sam winked at him and reached for his mug. He sipped his coffee and read through the items written in Steve’s familiar spidery cursive, nodding along with most of them, laughing outright at the last one, which had been underlined three times.

“Boy, you really hate burlap, huh?”

“If you want burlap anything, Sam, we’re done,” Steve said in his _I’m Captain America and I will not tolerate your bullshit_ voice. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I think it’s ugly, too,” Sam reassured him with a chuckle.

“Not just ugly,” Steve said, and he visibly shuddered, something that Sam had never seen him do before. “My mother used it once, to reinforce some of my clothes when times were tough, and believe me, you’d hate it, too, if you could still see the scars from the rash it gave me.”

“You— really?” Sam said, completely caught off-guard. “I didn’t know that.”

“Bucky’s ma did it,” Steve explained. He started scratching various parts of his body — shoulders, thighs, stomach; Sam doubted he was even aware he was doing it. “See, in Indiana, during the Depression, they’d use gunny sacks for clothes if there wasn’t any other cloth available. So my ma figured she’d try it, too, since burlap was cheap. But with my skin...” Steve shuddered again. “It didn’t end well.”

“Jesus,” Sam mumbled.

Steve nodded, giving him a wry smile. “And now it’s all the rage for weddings. _Shabby chic_ , they call it,” he said bitterly. “Like being poor is some kind of fashion statement.”

Sam had been to a wedding like that once, when one of his college friends married a girl from Omaha. It was a small, backyard affair; the dishes were mismatched, and some were chipped — _They’re vintage_ , the couple had declared proudly — and Sam was seated near the burlap table runner. He’d rested his elbow on it during the speeches and that patch of skin had itched for the rest of the night. He could only imagine what a nightmare it would have been for Steve’s allergy-ridden body.

“You got a pen?” he asked after a moment.

Steve blinked at him, like Sam had startled him out of his thoughts, then nodded and dug in the drawer until he found one.

“Thanks.”

Sam underlined the words _No Burlap_ twice more and added a couple of exclamation points for good measure. He glanced up and caught Steve smiling at him.

“Be still my heart,” Steve said, clutching his chest dramatically.

Sam laughed and kissed him, licking the sweet taste of Steve’s coffee off his lips.

“So, no shabby chic bullshit,” he said when they parted. “I can definitely get behind that. Do you mind if I add _Peacock feathers_ to this list?”

“Peacock—? No, by all means, go ahead,” Steve told him with a little laugh.

When Sam had written it down, Steve kissed him once more before turning his attention back to the notebook. “Anything there you disagree with?”

“Don’t think so,” said Sam, glancing through it one more time. “Though I’m curious: what do you mean by _No Avengers_? Most of our friends are Avengers, you know.”

“Oh,” Steve chuckled. “Well...” He opened the browser on his computer and went to a bookmarked page.

Sam felt his jaw drop.

It was a wedding album on a photographer’s website. The bride was dressed as Captain America and the groom was the Winter Soldier. Steve clicked ahead, finding a photo where they were kissing. The couple’s appearance was uncannily accurate, right down to a very convincing fake metal arm. It really did look like Steve was playing tonsil hockey with Bucky, and the image made Sam dizzy, almost nauseous with jealousy.

“Yeah,” said Steve awkwardly. “And then there’s the wedding party...”

He clicked a couple more times, pulling up what could have been a picture of the entire team, if Tony, Rhodey, Bruce, and Thor were still involved.

“Wow,” Sam said under his breath. “That’s disturbing.”

“Right?” said Steve, closing the tab. “I guess that’s what I get for Googling _Captain America_ and _wedding_.”

“That’ll do it,” Sam agreed. He took another drink of his coffee to wash the sick taste away. “Why in the hell would you Google that?”

Steve shrugged. “I wondered if anybody was speculating about my love life.”

“And?”

“Not a peep,” said Steve, though he frowned slightly. “That’s a good thing, right? We don’t want to go public yet, do we?”

Sam hesitated. He still hadn’t figured out his feelings about their relationship being in the public eye. If that wedding theme was any indication, half the country still thought Steve was in love with his best friend, and the other half— Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Let’s talk to Maria about that on Monday,” he suggested finally. “For now, we’ll work with what we can do, just the two of us. What else have you been up to?”

“Oh, Sam,” said Steve, opening a new tab in his browser and typing in _www.pinterest.com_. He hit the enter key with a flourish and grinned over at him. “I thought you’d never ask....” 

* * *

By the time Monday came along, they’d crossed several items off the list and eliminated many more. Sam had rolled his eyes at _Get manicure_ and _Start diet/exercise plan_ , and neither of them had to worry about dress fittings, so that got rid of half a dozen list items right away.

They started with the date. Steve shyly asked if they could get married on October 2nd. It was his mother’s birthday, and he said getting married on that day would feel like a way of including her. Sam agreed to it, and Steve looked so pleased that Sam couldn’t even tease him about wanting an anniversary date he could easily remember. Instead, he just hugged Steve tight and told him how much he wished he could have met her. He asked if Steve wanted a memorial candle lit during the ceremony, and Steve had never heard of that, so they spent a long time holding hands, browsing online wedding shops for something suitable.

They spent a long time online in general, actually. With the help of Steve’s Pinterest addiction, they looked at far too many pictures of straight white people getting married. It wasn’t all bad, though; Steve showed Sam how to narrow the search until they found a color scheme they could agree on that was, apparently, suitable for an autumn wedding. The main colors would be navy blue and burgundy — Steve kept insisting it was called _marsala_ , but it looked just like burgundy to Sam — plus orange and peach for the accent colors, since supposedly that was a thing that weddings needed. Sam just shook his head and trusted his more artistic half to be in charge of that.

So Sam was feeling pretty confident, going into Maria’s office early on Monday morning, knowing that they’d done enough decision-making to give her something to go on in terms of picking their vendors. She listened and nodded, she looked at the — excessive — pictures of what they thought they wanted, and she made meticulous notes.

“Flowers?”

“Orange calla lilies,” Steve replied promptly. “Single bloom boutonnieres and small, hand-tied bouquets.”

“Plus a flower ball for Jody,” Sam added. “What’s that called, a pomade?”

Steve laughed. “Pomander,” he corrected. “Make it out of roses,” he said to Maria, “in peach and orange.”

“Okay,” said Maria, writing that down. “And the wedding party?”

“Just two on each side, plus Jody,” said Sam. “Steve’s got Bucky and Nat, and I’ll have my sister plus Riley’s little brother.”

“Full names?” Maria asked without looking up.

“Seriously?” said Sam. “You want to vet my sister?”

Maria shrugged unapologetically.

“Damn spies,” Sam sighed. “Okay, it’s Sarah Casper-Wilson, Casper’s spelled just like the ghost. And her daughter, Jody. She’s five, so I don’t _think_ she’s an international terrorist—”

“She is very demanding, though,” Steve mused.

“Shut it,” Sam said with no heat. “And Riley’s brother is Finn Thompson, T-H-O-M-P-son.”

“Thank you,” Maria told him. But then she asked a simple question that both of them had, somehow, forgotten to consider. “Where do you want to have the wedding?”

“Well, we were thinking a little church,” Steve answered right away, but Maria waved a hand.

“Yeah, you mentioned that. But where?”

“Where...?”

“Were you thinking here in LA, or maybe outside the city, or a different state entirely?”

Steve looked to Sam, baffled, and Sam just shrugged. He hadn’t considered the location at all.

“All right,” Maria went on. She set down her pen and leaned forward. “Here’s my concern: you get married here in LA, and it becomes a spectacle. We’re talking paparazzi, day and night, staking out our headquarters.”

“Not exactly good for business,” Steve muttered with a slight wince.

“Right,” Maria agreed. “Not to mention that your wedding day would become more about looking good for the press rather than enjoying getting married.”

“I don’t want that,” Sam said firmly. Steve took his hand and nodded.

“So, what do you suggest?” he asked gravely, like he was seeking tactical advice.

“Well, Sam, your family’s in Louisiana, right?” asked Maria.

“Most of them,” Sam replied. “The ones I’d want at the wedding definitely are,” he added, thinking of his parents, Sarah, and Jody. And Riley’s family, if they wanted to come.

“So, how about New Orleans?” Maria suggested. “The press doesn’t really pay attention to us when we leave LA as a team, and they won’t guess where we’re going. We could keep the location under wraps, be there before they’d even notice.”

“Actually,” Sam said slowly, as a thought occurred to him. “I think I have a better idea.”

“Do tell.”

“My folks and my sister are in Metairie, it’s a small town north of New Orleans. They go to this pretty little church there, pastor’s a friend of the family. We could... ask?”

Sam looked to Steve uncertainly, but Steve was beaming at him. “That sounds perfect.”

“Great,” said Maria with a bright smile, which was a rarity. “Get me the name of the pastor, and I’ll get in touch. Now,” she went on, going serious again in a flash. “I assume you want a small wedding.”

“Define small,” said Steve hesitantly.

“Fifty, sixty people?” Maria guessed. “Is that too big?”

Steve shrugged. “Sixty should be good,” Sam said, quickly doing the math.

“I’ll plan for seventy-five just in case,” said Maria, jotting down a quick note. “But it’d make my job easier if you guys could draft a guest list soon.”

“Understood,” Steve said with a nod. Sam smiled slightly at the reflex.

“The last order of business,” Maria continued, turning to a fresh page in her notebook, “is the publicity. We have to — you have to — decide who to tell about this and how much to tell them.”

Sam scowled. He’d known it was going to come up, but that didn’t mean he had to enjoy this discussion.

Steve shot him a quick look before asking, “Do we even have to say anything official? I mean, is it really anybody’s business?”

Sam pursed his lips. “This from the guy who wanted to make a big statement when everybody on Twitter thought you were in love with Bucky?”

Steve grimaced. “That was different, though. That was proving people wrong. This is...” He shrugged. “I don’t know, private? It’s you and me, Sam.”

Sam sighed. On the one hand, he understood Steve’s desire for privacy — maybe even better than Steve did; Sam hadn’t been famous as long, and he had more to lose from being in the public eye. He thought of Sarah and Jody, living in relative obscurity. He didn’t want to expose them to the scrutiny of reporters; being Captain America’s in-laws might not protect them. Hell, being Captain America’s husband might not even be enough to protect Sam from the danger and hate that a public coming out could provoke.

But on the other hand, Sam was proud of who he was, where he came from, and he was proud of the man he loved, too. He’d wanted to come out for a while now, to make it official, to stand up and be proud in the face of adversity, but the timing had never seemed right. They’d kept their relationship quiet for so long, first because they were dealing with the fallout of Insight, and then Sokovia, and then the Accords — basically, life seemed to keep conspiring to prevent them from reaching a time that they could announce their partnership.

That realization gave Sam the same uncomfortable niggle that he’d gotten from their conversation about retirement. _Cold feet_ , he told himself, though that solution still seemed too pat, inadequate for the roiling sensation in his gut that came when he thought about the future.

“Sam?” Steve prompted quietly, reminding him that he was still waiting for Sam’s opinion.

“Yes,” Sam said at last. “It is private. But I don’t want to hide anymore. I love you, Steve, and just because I don’t want the whole world at our wedding doesn’t mean I don’t want them to know about it. Can we do something like that?” he asked Maria. “Can we make an announcement, shape the story, maybe send out a couple official pictures, so they’re not shoving cameras in our faces on the day?”

Maria was already nodding, so Sam looked back to Steve.

“If that’s what you want, Sam, that’s what I want, too,” Steve said, giving Sam’s hand a squeeze before letting go.

“The question is how to do it,” Maria mused, after another minute of taking notes.

“Press release is probably the easiest,” Sam started to say, but there was a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Maria called hesitantly.

It was Bucky, and he looked grumpier than Sam had seen him in a while.

“What is it, Barnes?” asked Maria.

Bucky shoved his phone into Steve’s hand and crossed his arms. Steve frowned at the screen for a second before he sighed heavily and looked up.

“When was this posted?” he asked Bucky.

“Ten minutes ago. Sorry, Sam,” Bucky muttered, as Steve handed him the phone.

The browser was open to a popular gossip website, with a headline screaming, _Captain America Secretly MARRIED?!_ Below was a photo of Steve and Sam in sunglasses. Sam recognized their outfits, recognized the moment that the photographer had captured.

They’d gone for a Starbucks run early yesterday evening before the sun had set, and Steve had been laughing way too hard about the way the barista had misspelled Sam’s name as _Seann_. _How in the hell do you mess up ‘Sam’?_ he’d asked, and, like he sometimes did, he’d brought his left hand up to his chest while he threw his head back and laughed.

There, on his finger, was the glint of the beautiful gold ring Sam had given him.

Sam’s heart sank as he scrolled down to see himself all but cut out of the image, the only remaining edge of his shirt covered by an inset, a blurry close-up of the ring. Interspersed throughout the text were oval-shaped pictures of the (white) people the author assumed Steve would marry: Sharon, Natasha, Pepper, and, biggest of all, Bucky.

_Scholars have long speculated that the relationship between Capt. Rogers and Sgt. Barnes may have been more than platonic, but could the rumors be true? Though neither has ever spoken publically about their sexuality, their story is certainly what romantic legends are made of: childhood friends (sweethearts?), comrades—_

Sam stopped reading and tossed the phone towards Maria’s desk, where it landed with a loud clunk. Maria picked it up, but Sam couldn’t be bothered to see what she was doing with it; instead he put his elbows on his knees and ran his hands over his face.

He heard Steve move, and, a second later Steve’s hand, complete with that gold band that meant so much to him, was on Sam’s arm, rubbing and squeezing. Comforting, supportive. On his left.

“I’m sorry,” he said in a low voice.

Sam’s throat was tight, closing up around the words that would make Steve feel better — _it’s not your fault, that’s what the media does_ — so he just nodded, acknowledging Steve’s apology.

“What do you wanna do?” Steve asked after a long silent moment.

Sam looked at Steve, at those uncertain blue eyes and perpetually too-pink lips, and took a deep breath. The hurt was already starting to fade, hardening into anger as sharp and unstoppable as the diamonds on their hands.

“I want to prove every one of those assholes wrong,” he said finally. “Make them regret cutting me out of every picture.”

Steve’s face slowly changed, adopting its familiar pre-fight grin. “Now there’s an idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No offence intended to those who like the _shabby chic_ wedding aesthetic.


	5. Big News (155 Days Before)

“I don’t tweet very often,” said Steve as he typed on his phone. “I hope I’m doing it right.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Sam told him absently.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, letting him know Steve had tweeted, but he ignored it, going back to his laptop, where he was perusing two photographers’ portfolios.

Maria wanted them to have professional photos to give the press, to back up Steve’s Twitter hint today — they were cutting it close. Steve had narrowed down Maria’s list; both photographers were available for an engagement photo shoot tomorrow, and the final vote had fallen to Sam.

“Ooh!” cried Steve suddenly from the sofa. “A lot of people are liking my tweet already.”

Sam suppressed a smirk — Steve was still kind of naive about people on the Internet — as he switched back and forth between tabs, comparing the pictures, cementing his conclusion that the first one, a New York-based photographer named Glorianna O’Breen, appealed to him more. Not that he really knew enough about photography to explain why, but Steve seemed to want that; _fresh eyes_ , he called it.

Sam turned around to tell Steve he’d reached a decision, but stopped short when he noticed that Steve was frowning down at his phone in confusion.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked him. “Assholes on the Internet being assholes?”

“No,” said Steve as he scrolled. “Well, maybe a little. But...”

“What?”

Steve looked up, his face apologetic. “Everybody thinks I’m marrying Bucky.”

With an effort, Sam shrugged, deflecting the hurt. “Figures.”

“But I didn’t even tell them I was engaged to a guy,” Steve went on, puzzled. “How do they know?”

Sam sighed. He didn’t have an answer for that — aside from the obvious — so he pulled out his phone, bracing himself to deal with Steve’s adoring public. Again.

  
**Steve G. Rogers @RealCap**

Re: celeb.com/398t0ZX. Hate to correct u but not married... YET. Big day’s still 6 months away. #SoExcited #LoveOfMyLife #LoveWins ♥

  
Sam read the tweet. He blinked. He looked over at Steve, whose nose was still buried in his phone. He read the tweet again. He blinked again.

He skimmed the public replies — nothing too horrible yet — and sank onto the couch beside Steve. He flopped over, resting his forehead, none too gently, on Steve’s hard shoulder.

“Sam?”

“Steve,” Sam mumbled, pushing himself up after he’d taken a moment to consider all the choices in his life that had led to him having to teach Captain America how to Twitter. “You used the Love Wins hashtag.”

Steve blinked. “Yeah. I thought it was fitting, what with us being us.”

“Us being us,” Sam repeated blankly.

“You know, fighters,” said Steve. “Plus, I didn’t know another way to put a heart in it.”

Sam rubbed his temples. He was going to have a monstrous headache before too long.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before he proceeded to explain the ways in which Steve had just ruined their carefully laid-out publicity campaign.

* * *

“Welcome back, and thank you for joining us for _Entertainment Tonight_. Our top story? Captain America. Earlier today, we got some exciting news from the Twitterverse regarding everyone’s favorite superhero and America’s most eligible bachelor — or is he?

“This may be the biggest news story to break since Cap returned to the States after that year-long diplomatic trip to Wakanda. He’s kept a very low profile, but a photo surfaced last week of our beloved Captain, wearing what seems to be a wedding band. Now, everybody knows that photos like this can be faked, but Cap himself confirmed it this morning on Twitter, telling the world that he is engaged to be married in six months.

“And here’s where the story gets really interesting. He didn’t tell us who he’s marrying, but based on the tweet, the rumors are already swirling, and the most likely candidate for Cap’s affection may not be who you think. In fact, many claim that his fiancé may be none other than his lifelong friend and comrade, James Bucky Barnes, formerly known as the Winter Soldier....”

* * *

“Steve,” Bucky growled, coming into their apartment without knocking. “You mind telling me why my face is plastered all over the news? I ain’t even wanted this time.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Steve said, running his fingers haphazardly through his hair. “I fucked up. Publically.”

Sam muted the TV, which, honestly, was a relief. “Steve accidentally came out a little ahead of schedule,” he explained, “and, since he didn’t tell them which man he’s marrying, the Stucky craze is back with a vengeance.”

“The Stuck— oh, for Christ’s sake. I hate the Internet,” Bucky groaned. “Steve, what the fuck? Who put you in charge?”

“Hey, I’m trying to fix this,” Steve argued. “Nothing’s stopping you from going on Twitter and setting the record straight yourself.”

“I don’t want a fucking Twitter,” Bucky shot back. “Running around with a target on your back, that’s your scene. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m more of a strike-from-the-shadows type.”

They carried on like that, leaving Sam shaking his head — because, honestly, what was his life that he was standing here listening to two grouchy old men arguing about Twitter? — while trying to respond to his mother’s frantic text messages.

 _Crazy things on the news, baby, got me worried_ , she’d sent almost an hour ago. _Is the wedding cancelled?_ she’d asked twenty minutes later. As Sam started to reply, he received another one: _What’s going on??_

 _Wedding’s still on_ , he typed, _everything’s fine. Just a bit of a PR situation_.

 _PR Situating?_ his mother sent back immediately.

 _It’s FINE Mama_.

 _Don’t take that tone with me_.

Sam sighed, but he sent her a quick apology nonetheless, just as the apartment door opened again, revealing Maria, Natasha, and Wanda, who was clutching a small bag.

“Rogers,” said Maria, in that threatening tone that Sam had only heard a handful of times, and usually in combat.

Steve broke off arguing with Bucky at once. “Ma’am.”

“Don’t _Ma’am_ me,” Maria told him. “We’re here for damage control.”

“What’s the plan?” asked Sam.

“Forget the photographer. You can have a formal shoot later. The media needs pictures tonight, so I want you showered, nicely dressed, and downstairs in twenty minutes. Romanov?”

Natasha stepped forward. “Director?” she said smoothly.

Maria seemed to lose focus for a second before she recovered. “You’re on wardrobe. Maximoff, makeup.”

“Makeup?” Steve repeated doubtfully.

“Can it,” Maria snapped. “Barnes, downstairs with me. Now.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Bucky with a salute.

“Move out,” she ordered. She turned on her heel and left, Bucky trailing in her wake.

Natasha shoved at Steve. “Shower,” she said firmly. “Sam, come with me into the bedroom, we need to dress your fiancé.”

* * *

Half an hour later, they were outside the Tower, heading towards the beach, trying to look natural in suits and ties. They used Steve’s phone, and then Sam’s, to take selfies, and then Scott took a few pictures with a real camera.

“Come on, Cap,” he teased. “You keep looking so grumpy, you’re begging the meme lords to compare you to that cat.”

“I have no idea what you just said,” Steve muttered, but he smiled when Sam tickled him in time for Scott to lift the camera.

On the steps at the front of the building behind them, Bucky was hunched over a laptop, while Maria talked on her Bluetooth in a sweet, unassuming cadence that usually meant she was dealing with the press.

“Now kiss,” said Scott suddenly, and Sam ducked in fast, planting one on Steve’s cheek just as the flash went off.

Scott checked the picture on the screen and grinned. “That’s the one,” he announced, turning it so they could see.

“Wow,” Sam murmured.

The picture had captured the very second that Steve’s smile started to bloom, making him look young and carefree, which happened so rarely that Sam felt a little envious to think that millions of people would be sharing this moment with them. But then Steve gave him that little smile in person, and Sam realized that there was no better way to announce their relationship to the world.

“Think fast,” Steve said quietly, and before Sam could process what he’d said, Steve was kissing him, and Scott’s camera was clicking again.

“Bring your hand up to Sam’s cheek,” Scott suggested. “Show off the bling.”

Steve did as Scott asked, not pausing the kiss for a moment, and Sam soon found himself a little breathless, and he could tell that Steve was too.

They broke apart when Natasha whistled, Sam’s face burning. Steve looked embarrassed, but he pressed his forehead against Sam’s, and Scott took more pictures of them looking into each other’s eyes.

“Okay,” he said, after he fiddled with his camera, giving them a moment, accidentally or not, to calm down. “Maria asked me to do two or three more traditional poses, but those are tricky with two guys, so—”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

Scott hesitated, so Wanda answered as she swooped in to adjust Sam’s tie. “Those pictures always put the girl in a lower position,” she explained. “I’ve seen some that are... creepy.”

“Like the one where the bride’s in bare feet standing on the groom’s shoes,” Natasha put in, coming over from the computer with two bottles of water.

Scott shuddered. “That’s what Cassie does when she wants to dance with me.”

“I even saw one where she was sitting on the ground at her fiancé’s feet,” said Natasha, “so, unless you want to make a strong statement about who doms...”

Steve’s eyes were comically huge by now. Sam came to his rescue. “Yeah, no,” he said firmly. “We’re probably going to be asked enough questions about which of us is the girl, so let’s not add any fuel to that fire.”

“Okay,” Scott said briskly. “We’re agreed: no creepy daddy/dom photos. Great. So, Steve, let’s just have you here, with your back to the camera — that’s right, put your arm around Sam’s waist — and Sam, you do the same, that way we can see your ring—”

“Would you look at that, I’m on your left,” said Steve under his breath, because he was never going to let that go.

“And Sam, I want your chin against Steve’s shoulder, like — yes, that’s it. Now, look at the camera, and three, two, one—”

Sam was pretty sure he blinked, but it didn’t really matter because Scott took several more, asking them to move how they wanted to, to not think about the camera. Sam closed his eyes, felt Steve’s lips on his forehead, Steve’s freshly shaven cheek against his skin.

“Beautiful,” he heard Wanda murmur.

They carried on like that a little while longer, making each other laugh and walking off into the sunset holding hands, touching noses. Sam knew the result would be those ridiculous, syrupy-sweet photos that made his mama cry, but he didn’t mind. This was part of the process, after all, and, even though Steve had rushed them into it, Sam wanted to enjoy it.

Finally, when the light had mostly faded, they turned and headed back to the building, where Sam could see that Bucky had gone inside and set up his computer on a table in the lobby. He was pacing, talking on the phone now and scowling like all get out, while Maria tapped her foot beside him.

“Let’s just get these on the computer so we can see them,” Scott said. He plugged in the camera while Steve undid his tie. Sam did the same, slipping out of his suit jacket and draping it over the back of a chair.

“These are gorgeous,” said Natasha, peering over Scott’s shoulder. “I know we only took them as a stop-gap measure, but they work. You might not even need professional ones.”

“Most wedding photographers will insist on an engagement shoot, though,” Maria declared, as Bucky handed her back the Bluetooth. “It gives them a chance to get to know you, see what you like, that kind of thing.”

Steve nodded and slipped an arm around Sam’s waist. “So maybe those’ll be just for us,” he murmured. The words sent a pleasant shiver down Sam’s spine.

“All set, Lang?” asked Maria.

Scott clicked the mouse pad twice more, then unplugged his camera from the USB port. “Yep.”

“Great. Which one do you want to tweet?” Maria asked, but she wasn’t looking at Steve.

Sam followed her gaze. “Bucky?” he said uncertainly.

Bucky heaved an enormous sigh and glared at Steve. “The things I do for you...”

He nudged Scott aside and sat down at the computer, opening the browser and pulling up Twitter. Sam stifled a laugh at his username, but he couldn’t help grinning at the words he typed for his first — possibly his only — tweet.

 

**James Bucky Barnes @HappyNowSteve**

The rumors of my being engaged to Steve Rogers are greatly exaggerated. (Wouldn’t marry that punk if you paid me.) #BestMan #CapLovesFalcon

 

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve said quietly, as Bucky attached the photo of Sam kissing Steve’s cheek and sent the tweet away into cyberspace.

“Great,” Maria said again, already typing on her tablet. “Now I just need to leak this to a few gossip sites, and... presto.”

“That’s it?” asked Sam.

“That’s it,” Maria confirmed. “Now it’s your turn.”

Sam pulled out his phone and shared one of their selfies to Twitter. He wrestled with himself about how to caption it, throwing away several potential messages that seemed too sappy before he finally decided to go for something humorous.

 

**Sam Wilson @TheOnlyFalcon**

Hey fiancé can I get a pre-nup that says you gonna start catching me back? #JustSayin #CapLovesFalcon & #FalconLovesCap @RealCap

 

He turned the phone towards Steve, who was now in Bucky’s place in front of the computer. Steve laughed at the tweet and gave him a thumbs-up, so Sam tapped the little bird and sent it.

“And now,” Natasha said, leaning over to swipe Bucky’s phone from his back pocket, “you turn off your phones and go on vacation for a few days.”

“Good plan,” said Steve. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the group. “Maybe one of you should help me tweet this time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out [Michael-Birch and Anthony's engagement photos on Offbeat Bride](http://offbeatbride.com/floral-suit-gay-engagement/) to see my inspiration for Sam and Steve's photo shoot.


	6. The Refusal (73 Days Before)

They didn’t take a vacation, but they found out that a terrorist group funded by the remains of HYDRA had started kidnapping schoolchildren in Cincinnati the morning after their big Twitter reveal, and that kept them busy for a while. Natasha and Scott ran cyber operations, infiltrating the terrorists’ systems, while Bucky, Wanda, Steve, and Sam rented rooms in three different dingy motels in Ohio. They spent ten days essentially incommunicado, hitting HYDRA science bases, getting the kids back to their families, staking out meeting places, and picking off the members of the terror cell one by one.

Aside from the ever-present tingle of danger, Steve loved it. He was glad of the distraction, for one thing; the longer he could go without talking to the press about his sex life — he just knew they’d have a million questions — the better. But he also liked that the work let him spend time with Sam apart from their personal relationship. It was nice to be reminded of how well they fit together in other ways, in every way. Plus, the mission gave him an excuse to take care of Sam, since they were so worn out by the end of every day that Sam didn’t protest when Steve drew them a bath or rubbed his back, kneading the stiff muscle. Sam drew the line, however, when Steve tried anything more creative than a take-out menu for dinner, and, frankly, Steve couldn’t blame him for that.

Maybe they got their vacation after all.

But they had to go back to the real world eventually, and, when they did, Steve found himself inundated with social media. He had several dozen outstanding interview requests and his Twitter had so many notifications, the little envelope just kept displaying _99+_. Some of the messages were horrible, obviously only sent because they could be sent anonymously; Steve would love to meet someone who’d try to say these things to his face. But other tweets were really quite lovely, thanking Steve and Sam for being courageous enough to love each other without shame or fear. The most moving ones came from queer soldiers, both young and old; they brought a smile to Steve’s face, and, occasionally, a tear to his eye.

Maria made them do some TV — Steve’s favorite by far was Ellen DeGeneres’ show — as well as a few lengthy written interviews for reputable magazines. Steve happily let Sam do a lot of the talking, especially when the hosts tried to ignore him or direct most of their questions to Steve, and it was worth it to watch Sam glow with pride when he told people about how long they’d been together, when he showed off his ring, when he corrected them when they tried to call him or Steve gay.

“Bisexual,” he’d say, slowly like he liked the taste of the word in his mouth, and Steve had to admit he wanted to taste nothing else all day. “Married to a man or not, we’re still bi.”

Steve had to bite back a laugh at the interviewer’s confusion. He reached over and squeezed Sam’s hand instead.

When the hubbub finally subsided, Steve went back to work on the wedding plans, checking in with Maria about once a week, handling any difficulties that arose, following the checklist meticulously. Sam laughed at him a little for being so tactical about it, but, as Steve told him, he found it relaxing, a creative use of his skills that wouldn’t cause bloodshed — unless, of course, the wedding went very, very badly.

* * *

Hashing out the guest list was one of the hardest tasks that Steve had ever faced, though Maria assured him that the seating chart would be worse. He and Sam spent three days holed up, making a list of everyone they wanted to be there and cross-referencing that with a list of everyone who would be outrageously offended if they weren’t there.

“Is it cool if we invite Riley’s parents?” Sam asked, somewhere around the two-day mark. “I mean, Finn’s my best man, so they’d probably want to be there.”

“Of course,” said Steve, handing Sam a pen to add their names, since Sam’s printing was much more legible.

“Thanks. It means a lot to me.”

Steve just nodded. He knew Sam wished Riley could be there as his best man, but he was glad that Sam had Finn, even though, according to Sam, they weren’t as close as they used to be. It was hard, now that Sam was in California, and Finn was still in Louisiana, but they’d both lost a brother when Riley fell, and nothing could undo that bond. Hopefully, Finn being at Sam’s side in Riley’s place would bring them both a little more closure.

On day three, Sam’s parents emailed him a guest list as long as his arm, and Steve was about to tell Maria to start looking for bigger venues when Sam picked up the phone. Steve listened in awe as his fiancé negotiated with his mother — _Uncle Jacob_ or _second-cousin Louise, Mama, we can’t have both or there’ll be fireworks and you know it_ — talking her down from three tables’ worth of extended family to one.

“My hero,” Steve said when Sam disconnected.

“Yeah, we’ll just see if I’m the new black sheep come Christmas,” Sam muttered.

“New black sheep?” Steve repeated. “Who was the old one?”

Sam pointed to a name on their list that wasn’t crossed out. “Dawn. First cousin on my dad’s side. She eloped with her girlfriend a while back; Nana and Papa gave her the cold shoulder for almost two years, until Jen got pregnant.”

Steve nodded. “And Nana and Papa are...?”

Sam pointed again. “Gideon and Florence.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“Don’t worry, there’ll be a quiz later,” Sam told him with a little chuckle, resting his hands on Steve’s hips.

“Good,” said Steve, but he bit his lip uncertainly. “So, was it the elopement thing or the girlfriend thing that your grandparents objected to?”

“Both,” Sam admitted with a wince. “Dad’s family’s always been a little conservative. But they had their eyes opened when Sally was born — said they realized there was never a good enough reason for missing a milestone.”

“Good,” Steve said again, and Sam hummed in agreement before he kissed Steve once on the lips.

“Don’t worry,” he said, like he’d read Steve’s mind. “I told them about me not long after you and I got together, and, it took a little time, but they’re fine with it. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” said Steve, trying a smile. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” Sam agreed.

He pulled away and headed back to the table where their much-revised list was waiting. Steve watched his fingers toy with the edge of the paper, watched him hesitate before he opened his mouth.

“What about Rhodey?” he asked finally.

Steve made himself breathe in, breathe out, before replying. He’d wondered if this would happen. Sam and Rhodes still kept in touch, and every time they were in New York, Sam disappeared for a few hours to visit him upstate. He invited Steve to come with him every time, but Steve never did, and Sam never pushed.

Until today.

“He is your friend,” he began, but Sam turned and gave him a look that said, quite plainly, how unimpressed he was with that answer.

“Okay, okay,” Steve added, raising his hands in surrender. “He’s my friend, too. Sort of.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

Steve sighed. “Sam, he hates me,” he said finally. “And, after everything that went down between me and Tony, I’d hate me, too.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sam protested. “Water under the bridge.”

Steve shook his head, unconvinced. “Lotta water,” he murmured.

“Blood’s thicker, Steve,” Sam reminded him. “We were family before; we can be family again.”

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. He did miss Rhodes and Tony sometimes, and he wished things could have gone differently — the familiar, nauseating rush of guilt still hit him whenever he remembered that he was basically responsible for the team’s dissolution. But he’d made a choice, a _dangerously arrogant_ choice, and he had to stand by its consequences. He’d been right, dammit... but Rhodes had been right, too, and he’d gotten hurt because of it. And now, even though the dust had settled, Steve knew that their ideas hadn’t been reconciled.

But maybe they could put their differences aside for one day and reunite the family, as Sam put it. Steve tried to imagine himself in Rhodes’ position — not militarily, not professionally, but personally: if Steve had an old friend that he’d fallen out with, and he found out that that friend was getting married...

There just wasn’t a good enough reason for missing a milestone.

“Let’s invite him,” Steve said. He hesitated a second before adding, “Tony, too.”

Sam didn’t look surprised; he just nodded and added three names to the list.

“Pepper?” asked Steve.

“Yeah. I don’t know if she’ll come, but—”

“She will,” Steve said confidently. “She’s better than any of us at putting aside personal shit.”

“That’s the truth,” Sam laughed quietly and set down the pen. “Okay, don’t quote me on this, but I _think_ we’re done.”

“Really?” Steve came to stand beside Sam and settled his arm around Sam’s waist.

“Really.”

“Good,” said Steve, “because that was exhausting.”

“Emotional work always is,” Sam agreed. He leaned into Steve’s body, trusting Steve to take his weight, and sighed. “But it’s important.”

“It is,” said Steve, stifling a yawn. “Thanks for kicking my ass into doing it.”

Sam laughed and turned in Steve’s arms to kiss his lips. “Any time, baby.”

* * *

According to the checklist, invitations were generally mailed two months in advance of the wedding, so Steve and Sam followed the advice of an article Steve found on Pinterest entitled _Ten Tips for the Busy Bride_ and planned an envelope-stuffing party for the last Friday night in July.

Natasha rolled her eyes, saying it was a pretty lame excuse for a party, but promised she’d be there; she was Steve’s best lady after all. Wanda, Scott and Hope, plus Clint and Laura and the kids were coming, too; Maria, who had ordered all the stationary for them, was exempt from the envelope stuffing, but Steve hoped she’d drop in for a glass of wine at some point.

Meanwhile, Sam’s half of the wedding party couldn’t be there, since they were in Louisiana, and Bucky’s attendance was in doubt, too; he was in Kiev, tracking down a possible Winter Soldier that had escaped Zemo’s massacre a few years ago.

Still, Steve was up for a party; it’d been a while since they’d hosted one. On Thursday morning, he filled the fridge with beer and wine, plus juice and snacks for the kids, while Sam cleaned the apartment — Steve had offered to help out, but Sam said he liked watching Steve lug things heavier than a mop. By the time he and Sam went to bed, Steve was almost giddy at the thought of crossing this item off their wedding list.

But his phone rang at 4:48 on Friday morning.

“I am so sorry,” he said to Sam as he switched on the lamp. “You could come with me.”

“Nah,” said Sam, his voice fuzzy. “I wasn’t there in Siberia when you and Buck....”

He trailed off. Steve figured he’d fallen back asleep, so he dug his grey stealth uniform out of the closet and dressed as quietly as he could.

“Plus,” Sam added suddenly, startling Steve into whirling around, his pants half-zipped, “Bucky said he found an underground bunker? Not really a Falcon-friendly environment.”

“Suppose not,” Steve agreed reluctantly. He sat on the bed to pull on his boots — black combat, no bright red leather this time — and Sam shifted behind him until his arms were wrapped around him and he was resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Be careful,” he murmured, his breath a warm tickle against Steve’s neck.

“I will.” Steve gripped Sam’s forearm tightly, then turned his head to kiss him.

“You want me to cancel the party?” Sam asked.

“No,” said Steve, getting to his feet with an effort. “You guys deserve some fun. I’m sorry me and Bucky can’t be there, but he wouldn’t have called unless—”

“I know,” Sam cut him off. “Go. Help your best man.”

“Okay,” Steve said, but he hesitated again. “I’m sorry yours can’t be here.”

“You keep apologizing, you’ll miss your flight,” Sam said wryly. “Go on, get out of here, I got a bed to monopolize.”

Steve cracked a smile and bent over for one last goodbye kiss. “I love you,” he said against Sam’s lips.

“Love you, too. Stay safe and come home.”

“Will do,” said Steve, and, as he headed down to the quinjet hangar, he convinced himself to put his mind on the mission and managed not to look back.

* * *

The Winter Soldier that Bucky had tracked to rural Ukraine turned out not to be a Winter Soldier at all, but he was enhanced. Super strength and reflexes made him a tough opponent, especially since, as Sam had predicted, most of the fighting took place underground, in tight corners and dimly-lit hallways.

Steve and Bucky moved in on the seemingly abandoned bunker as soon as Steve arrived, and it was almost two days before they saw the sun again, navigating a complex series of tunnels before they found what they were looking for: a lab eerily similar to the one where Steve and his team had found Loki’s scepter a few years ago.

Their target was there, and, though he didn’t react when Bucky addressed him in Russian, he fought long and hard, wailing in protest when Steve finally clamped the restraints on his limbs.

“Kill me,” he begged in German. “Don’t bring me back there, I’d rather die, please.”

Bucky, whose German had always been better than Steve’s, stepped forward and comforted him, assuring him that they were going somewhere safe. Behind the man’s back, Bucky shook his head at Steve. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the Winter Soldier program.

“Strucker?” Steve murmured.

The man flinched but didn’t answer.

“I’ll call Wanda,” Steve said when they reached the surface. “See if she has some insight.”

“Good idea,” Bucky agreed, and he led the man over to the vehicle.

“Of course, Captain,” Wanda said right away, when Steve asked if she could fly over. “If he was a subject of Strucker’s, he’ll need my help.”

“Thank you,” Steve replied. “I’ll meet you at the airstrip, then.”

He pulled the phone away to hang up when he heard Wanda say, “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Have you spoken with Sam?”

“No, I was gonna call him next. How’d the party go?” Steve asked, before his brain fully registered Wanda’s anxious tone. “Wait, did something happen?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Wanda replied. Steve heard her swallow hard. “He cancelled the party, and he’s not answered any of my messages since Friday afternoon.”

Steve glanced down at his watch. Even accounting for the time difference, it had been nearly two whole days. Much too long, he thought, trying not to panic. Much, much too long.

“Did you go to the apartment? Knock, check on him?”

“Tasha did. Said he looked and sounded like he had a cold. It’s probably nothing, but—”

“I’m coming home right now,” Steve decided, and he hung up. He’d apologize for his rudeness later.

Bucky, who’d returned and been watching and listening, reached over and plucked Steve’s phone from his trembling hands.

“I’ll dial,” he said, tapping the screen with his gloved metal fingers before handing it back.

Steve pressed the phone to his ear and waited. “It’s not ringing,” he said to Bucky. “It’s gone straight to— Hi, Sam, it’s me. Nat said you weren’t feeling well? I’m leaving Europe right now, baby, I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you. I—” he hesitated, not sure what else to add. “Love you,” he said again finally.

Bucky drove him to the airstrip and insisted that three of their staff fly Steve home. He didn’t say much, no empty platitudes like _I’m sure Sam’s fine_ or _It’ll be all right_ , and Steve appreciated that. Bucky just hugged him tight at the base of the ramp and told him to try and get some rest.

They both knew he wouldn’t.

* * *

Steve found Sam curled up on the couch, surrounded by crumpled up tissues, fast asleep in front of _Moulin Rouge_. Steve smiled faintly, relieved but still a little worried; Sam really must not have been feeling well if he put that DVD in. He called it _comfort food_ , and, as much as Steve liked it, he could never come close to loving that film as much as Sam did.

Sam didn’t stir when Steve set down his shield and closed the door behind him, or even when Steve tiptoed past him to the bedroom to change out of his combat gear, but when Steve reached for the remote, Sam snuffled and rolled onto his back, blinking up at Steve with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.

That was when Steve knew that Sam wasn’t sick.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” he breathed, dropping to his knees on the floor in front of him. “Did somebody— did something—?”

Sam shook his head, even as his eyes misted over again. “Everybody’s fine,” he said hoarsely. “Just me that’s outta whack.”

“Talk to me, baby, tell me what hurts,” Steve implored, vaguely aware that he was using so many pet names — he was scared. He leaned in to kiss Sam’s forehead. It was clammy like he really had had a fever.

Sam shook his head again and started to sit up. “Can you just— be here with me a minute? _Sans_ talking?”

Steve nodded quickly and settled beside Sam on the couch, opening his arms. Sam leaned into him with all his weight, and Steve held him close.

“This is my favorite part,” Sam whispered, his voice shaky.

On the screen, the Argentinian introduced the dance that told the story of a prostitute and the man who fell in love with her. Steve rubbed Sam’s back steadily as the music picked up the pace, building rhythm with the wavering violin and the dancers’ footfalls. He wished he could enjoy it, but Sam was trembling in his arms, and Steve’s t-shirt was getting wet.

He breathed slowly, deeply, his chest rising and falling under Sam’s cheek. He hoped that Sam would start to mirror his breathing, but if anything, Sam’s breath got thicker and more ragged.

“Shh, it’s okay, shh,” Steve soothed him, because he didn’t know what else to do when Sam started sobbing, almost drowning out the powerful climax of the song.

_Why does my heart cry  
Feelings I can’t fight?_

Steve was trying very, very hard not to panic, to be the solid presence that Sam needed, to wait—

_You’re free to leave me, but just don’t deceive me  
And please, believe me when I say,_

“I love you,” Steve murmured, because he couldn’t keep it in a second longer, and because Sam needed to hear it.

Sam sniffed and nodded, and finally his breathing slowed, his shaking settled.

After a few minutes longer, Sam flopped an arm towards the coffee table, fumbling with the remote twice before he got it. He paused the movie, freezing on the image of Christian wiping a tear away from Satine’s cheek.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pushing himself upright.

“Don’t,” Steve said softly. He brushed Sam’s jaw with his thumb, guessing from the ragged edges of his beard that Sam hadn’t trimmed it in at least two days. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Sam nodded, though it seemed reluctant. “It’s just not getting better.”

Steve kept touching Sam, not sure if he was trying to soothe Sam or himself. “What happened?”

Sam drew a deep, shuddering breath and said, “Finn backed out.”

It took Steve a second to realize what he’d just heard. “Oh. So, he—”

“Won’t be my best man,” Sam confirmed.

“Oh,” Steve said again. “When did he tell you that?”

“Friday.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “Rough couple days, huh.”

Sam gave him a self-deprecating smile that looked out of place on his face. “Yeah, well, it’s my fault,” he said, and Steve could hear the way he’d re-examined and analyzed every second of what had happened for the last 48 hours. “I was hurt and I was pissed, so I lashed out, and... he lashed right back.”

Sam’s breathing hitched again. “Said I killed his brother,” he choked out.

“Oh, Sam,” Steve breathed, pulling him into his arms again. “Oh, God, Sam, I’m so sorry.”

No wonder Sam had been holed up all weekend, not answering the phone, doing the bare minimum to keep himself alive. Steve doubted he could even look in the mirror, and he wondered if Sam had gotten any sleep since he’d been gone.

Steve’s own eyes were burning, there was a lump in his throat the size of a baseball as he held on to Sam as tightly as he could. He thought back to those days right after he woke up, when SHIELD set him up in New York, left him in that god-awful apartment with the dossiers of his dead friends and nothing to distract him from the sick certainty that he wasn’t supposed to be there, that he shouldn’t have survived because they didn’t.

Steve had been alone in that grief, just like Sam had been after Riley fell, and Steve had known it somehow, that first time he met Sam, that they had that in common. He’d looked into Sam’s eyes, recognized the pain there, and for the first time since 1945, he hadn’t felt so goddamned alone.

And now neither of them had to be alone anymore.

“Hey,” he said softly, easing Sam back a little, so he could kiss him on the mouth, chaste and salty and reassuring. “It’s not your fault.”

Sam nodded. “I know. Logically, I know that. But knowing’s not the same as feeling.”

“I know,” Steve echoed. And since there wasn’t anything he could do about that right then, he asked, “When was the last time you ate something?”

Sam swiped at his wet face. “This morning. I think.”

“Are you hungry?”

Sam just shrugged.

“Okay,” said Steve, making an executive decision. “I’ll order us some dinner, and when it gets here you can decide if you want it or not. How’s that sound?”

“Sounds like you’re taking care of me,” Sam replied, his tone almost wry.

“I am,” Steve said simply. “God knows you’ve done it enough times.”

Sam smiled and looked down, his eyes glistening again. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Steve kissed him and shifted enough that he could get to his feet. “Do you want to take a bath, or maybe have a nap until dinner gets here?”

Sam shook his head. “Been alone for two days, Steve, I wanna stay out here with you.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve said earnestly, his hand lingering on Sam’s when he passed him the remote. “I should’ve been here.”

“Not your fault,” Sam replied. He settled into the corner of the sofa that Steve had just vacated. “You had to work.”

“Yeah, well, your retirement idea’s looking better every day,” Steve said under his breath. He bent down, kissed Sam one more time. “Put your movie back on, babe. I’ll be back in a minute with tea and take-out menus.”

“Thank you,” Sam called after him, and a second later Steve heard the film start again.

* * *

“I don’t know what to do now,” Sam murmured later, when they were in bed, and Steve was certain that Sam had fallen asleep on his chest.

“Just rest, baby,” Steve told him, rubbing his back.

“Well, yeah, obviously,” Sam said with an exhalation that might have been a laugh if he weren’t so exhausted. “But I meant for the wedding. I don’t know what we’re gonna do now that Finn’s out.”

“Oh,” said Steve. He bit his bottom lip uncertainly. “Do you think there’s any chance you guys might make up before—”

“Maybe,” Sam sighed. “But we can’t count on that. Weddings make people crazy, man, in case you haven’t already noticed.”

“Hm,” said Steve, since he didn’t know what else he could say.

“I mean, I could ask somebody else,” Sam said. “But the thing is...”

Steve waited, but Sam didn’t finish his sentence. “The thing is?” he prompted.

Sam hesitated. Even in the dark, Steve didn’t miss the way he closed his eyes, like he didn’t want to look at Steve, even by accident.

“Sometimes I feel like all my friends are your friends,” he mumbled finally. “And I know that’s not true, not really, but... I don’t know, it’s like, since we moved out here... I don’t really have anyone who’s... mine. Does that make sense?”

Steve nodded, then he remembered that Sam’s eyes were closed. “Yeah,” he replied. He rubbed Sam’s back a little more, the cotton t-shirt slipping under his fingers. “What about the guys we’re inviting from the VA? Or your cousins? Are any of them people you’d want at your side?”

“No,” Sam said slowly. He lifted his head, kept his eyes on the wall behind Steve. “Not really. I can only think of one other person I’d ask but...”

“Who is it?”

Sam shook his head and lay down again. “Never mind. You two don’t get along.”

Steve frowned, trying to think who— “Oh,” he said again, when he realized who Sam was talking about.

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled.

Steve didn’t reply, didn’t stop Sam when he rolled over on to his own side of the bed. Steve followed him, though, and Sam let him wrap an arm around him and pull him close. He fell asleep almost immediately, but Steve lay awake a little longer, resisting the pull of fatigue and the comfort of being back in his own bed with Sam beside him.

Sam deserved a best man, and Steve could — Steve would — see that he got the one he wanted.

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve whispered. “I’ll figure it out.”

He fell asleep in the middle of planning a trip to upstate New York.


	7. Back Where We Began (53 Days Before)

Driving up, Steve was struck by how the Avengers complex really hadn’t changed that much in the time since he’d been gone. Still wet with the morning dew, the grass seemed longer and more unkempt, though maybe that was just because there were no traces of Thor’s many burn marks; Steve didn’t realize that he’d been looking for them until he noticed that he couldn’t see any. The giant ‘A’ had been removed from the main building, of course, replaced by a Stark Industries logo that gleamed in the bright sunlight, though Steve could still see — or maybe he just imagined he could see — the faint grey outline of the old symbol around its edges.

The perimeter guard recognized Steve, despite the crappy rental car, and told him Jim was home. She waved him through the gate, though in retrospect Steve wished that she hadn’t, that she’d had to call ahead and let Rhodes know that Steve was here. Of course, Rhodes might have denied him entry, which would have defeated the purpose of Steve coming without Sam, but Steve still felt kind of bad dropping in unannounced.

Especially when the apartment door opened to reveal Rhodes in a wheelchair.

“Steve,” said Rhodes after a good minute of them staring at each other in silence.

“Jim,” said Steve.

“Tony’s not here,” Rhodes told him, not moving in any way that would indicate that Steve could come in.

“I’m not here to see Tony,” Steve replied. “I’m here to see you.”

Rhodes’ eyes narrowed. He looked down Steve’s body and back up, not hiding that fact that he was checking for concealed weapons.

“I’m not armed,” said Steve. “I just want to talk. It’s about Sam.”

Rhodes’ face changed at once, going from suspicious to concerned. “Is he all right? Did something happen?”

“He’s fine,” Steve reassured him. “Mostly. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Come in,” Rhodes said at last.

He wheeled himself away from the door, heading over to the kitchen that Steve still found familiar; he’d visited Tony’s suite enough times while he was living downstairs from him that the place was almost homey, sparse decor aside.

“Thank you,” said Steve, closing the door behind him.

“If I’d known you were coming I would have baked a cake,” Rhodes joked, his voice dry as a desert bone.

“Really?”

“No. Might’ve wore my braces though.”

Steve sank into a chair opposite him at the table. “So, how have you been?” he asked awkwardly.

“Paralyzed,” Rhodes said flatly. “You?”

“Sorry,” Steve said, as earnest as he could. “I didn’t mean for anybody—”

“Don’t you dare come into my house and lie to me, Steve,” Rhodes told him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You knew exactly what you were doing. What might happen. You knew people would get hurt, don’t tell me differently.”

Steve ducked his head, ashamed. “Maybe. But I didn’t realize I was starting a war. I should have, and I didn’t. And for that, I’m sorry. If I could do it all again...”

Rhodes sighed, seeming to deflate a little. “You’d do exactly the same thing, and so would I.”

Steve raised his head to meet Rhodes’ gaze. There was acknowledgement there — not forgiveness, but an understanding of each other that might one day become forgiveness.

“It’s in the past now, anyway,” said Rhodes. “Maybe we can just move on.” 

“It is,” Steve agreed solemnly. “And I think we can. I hope we can.”

After another long moment, Rhodes nodded. “So, tell me what’s up with Sam.”

Steve licked his lips. “Well, we’re getting married.”

“Congrats,” said Rhodes, with a ghost of a smile. “But I already knew that.”

“Oh,” Steve said, surprised.

“Yeah, Sam called me up a few weeks ago, wanted to let me know I could expect an invite. He seems happy.”

“He is happy,” Steve said, smiling despite the awkward circumstances, because he couldn’t help it whenever he thought about Sam.

“I’m glad,” said Rhodes, smiling too.

“But he’s hurting right now, without Riley,” Steve went on.

“Oh?”

Steve nodded. He told Rhodes about Finn backing out, about their argument, the grisly details of which had trickled out over the last few days.

Rhodes grimaced and shook his head. “Jesus,” he murmured. “Bad enough Sam carries all that guilt around already. He doesn’t need it confirmed by an outside source.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve agreed.

“But that still doesn’t explain why you’re here, Steve,” Rhodes prompted him.

Steve drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “He wants you to be his best man, Jim.”

Rhodes’ eyebrows shot up. “I’m touched,” he said, and he sounded it, too. His eyes narrowed a second later, though. “So, you were sent here to bury the hatchet, huh?”

Steve shook his head. “I should have come a long time ago. I’m sorry I didn’t. But Sam didn’t ask me to talk to you today. He doesn’t even know I’m here.”

“Lying to your fiancé...” Rhodes tsked. “Not a good sign, Rogers.”

“He’ll forgive me,” Steve replied. “You know Sam — doesn’t ask for anything for himself.”

“I do know Sam,” Rhodes said seriously, and then he smiled again. “Did you know I was his CO when he first enlisted? Eighteen years old, fresh outta high school, couldn’t even grow a moustache, but he was cockiest little sonofabitch I ever met.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Steve said honestly, relaxing a little in his chair.

“Believe it,” Rhodes told him with a laugh. “But it was all for show. Thought he had to prove himself to the other guys. About six months later I think he realized he didn’t have to, that none of them was the kind of man he wanted to be. And, what do you know, he was the only one of that group who made into the pararescue program.”

Steve grinned. That sounded more like the Sam he knew and loved. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Got any more stories from those days?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Rhodes with a grin, “I do...”

* * *

When Jim’s voice started to get reedy, Steve hopped up to get them some water, finding the glasses in the exact same cupboard they always were. He wondered, still chuckling at the account of Sam’s first test flight with the wings, why he’d put off this visit for so long.

Then Tony walked in — or rather, he blew into the apartment like a whirlwind, talking a mile a minute, drowning out the sound of the door closing.

“Rhodey, baby, you home? You’ll never believe what those asshats down at the D.O.D. want me to sign now. And, before you can give me a hard time about it, yes, you were right, I should have brought you with me, might have smoothed— oh,” he said abruptly, appearing on the kitchen threshold, his eyes widening at the sight of Steve. He looked to Jim. “What is he doing here?”

“Hello, Tony,” Steve said tightly. “I came to—”

“Didn’t ask you,” Tony cut him off without so much as a glance. “Rhodey?”

“Steve just came by to talk to me about his and Sam’s wedding,” Jim explained, slowly like he was talking down a hostage situation, which, Steve realized, he might be. “Sam wants me as his best man.”

“Mazel tov,” said Tony with no emotion. “I need a shower.”

He turned on his heel and headed down the hall in the direction of the bedrooms. “Oh, and I hope you can find a date, sweetheart, because I won’t be your plus-one,” he called before slamming the door.

Steve sighed and set down the glasses he just remembered he was holding. “Guess that saves us an invitation,” he said grimly. “I should go.”

Jim wheeled himself out from behind the table and followed Steve silently to the foyer, watching him pull on his shoes with a speculative expression.

“Send it anyway,” he advised, quiet enough that his voice wouldn’t carry down the hall. “You never know.”

Steve considered it a moment, then nodded. “Take care, Jim. It was good to see you.”

“You too. I’ll be in touch,” Jim replied.

After one more handshake, Steve was on his way back to LA, to Sam.

Mission accomplished, he thought, sort of. He really hadn’t expected to resolve everything today — and that was before Tony showed up — but Sam had a best man. Any further complications they could deal with down the road.

* * *

“You did what?” Sam said again.

It was late in the evening; Steve had returned from New York a few hours ago and arranged things such that Sam came home from training with the team to find dinner on the table. Steve waited until after he’d eaten and settled on the couch with a glass of wine to tell Sam where he’d been and what he’d been doing all day.

Now Sam was giving Steve the same look he’d given him six months ago, when Steve had suggested that they get a puppy.

“I flew to New York, and I talked to Rhodey,” Steve explained again. “And Tony. Briefly.”

“Huh,” said Sam. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you’re sure you’re not a clone? What’s my parents’ anniversary date?”

Taken aback, Steve stammered, “I— uh, I don’t know.”

“That’s because I never told you,” Sam said, a grin spreading across his face. “Okay, I’m convinced you’re not a clone.”

“Oh, good,” Steve said, wiping his brow exaggeratedly.

“It is good,” Sam agreed. “Because I only want the real deal.”

He leaned in, finding Steve’s lips with his own, slipping his tongue out. Steve opened to the kiss, feeling the same rush that he always did when Sam kissed him, like his body was on fire with the urge to touch him, while his mind, his heart, was silent and still, observing, waiting, loving every second and wanting nothing more.

Sam pulled back long minutes later, a little breathless. “Seriously, though, you didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” Steve told him, running his fingers along Sam’s jaw, enjoying the tickle of beard. “You deserve a best man, Sam.”

Sam looked down, pressing his face into Steve’s hand. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Steve smiled, but it was brief. He had one more item on his conscience to clear. “I’m sorry I didn’t go a long time ago,” he said. “I should have seen how important it was to you — should have noticed that you were feeling lonely without your friends here.”

“Steve?” Sam said, quietly but insistently.

“Yeah?”

“Did the serum give you telepathic abilities?”

Steve blinked, caught off-guard by the strange question. “Um, no?”

“Then stop with the _should haves_ ,” Sam told him. “I mean, maybe, yes, you could have talked to Rhodey sooner. For yourself, for that relationship. But as far as what I’m feeling? That’s on me if I don’t say anything.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “Okay,” he said after a moment.

“Okay,” Sam agreed. He shuffled nearer again, laying a kiss across Steve’s jaw. “But thanks for taking care of me, baby.”

“Any time,” Steve said, and he meant it. He brought his arms up tight around Sam and held him near. “I just wish you’d let me do it more often.”

“You and me both, Steve,” Sam murmured. “You and me both.”

* * *

“Oh, and baby?” Sam mumbled much later, after cuddling had turned into lovemaking, and they were in bed.

Steve was on the verge of sleep, but he pulled himself back. “Yeah?”

“Don’t let me forget: we have to order the guest book tomorrow.”

“Right,” Steve said, letting his mind drift away again. “Should I write that down?”

“Nah,” said Sam, after a long, sleepy pause. “We’ll remember.”


	8. The Thick Of It (2 Days Before)

“I’m in,” Natasha announced, less than a minute after she declared her intention to hack into Steve’s Pinterest.

Maria and Rhodes glanced at each other in surprise. Jim had been on Etsy for the last hour, trying to find Steve and Sam’s guest book without any luck, so he’d willingly turned the computer over to Nat when she’d asked. Meanwhile, Maria was receiving text message updates from the rest of the wedding party.

 _We’re down by the water,_ Sarah sent. _Thank God it’s not raining._

 _Gonna need a new 250lb bag in the training room,_ said Barnes. He followed it a second later with _Sorry._

 _Better the bag than the marriage,_ Maria replied, while Jim asked Natasha how she’d gotten in so quickly.

“His security question was laughably easy,” Natasha said. “Mother’s maiden name? Yeah, like we all didn’t read that at the Smithsonian.”

“Somebody really needs to teach that boy more about the Internet,” Jim muttered. “This is getting ridiculous.”

Both and he and Natasha looked to Maria expectantly. “Oh please,” she scoffed. “Like I don’t have enough to do. Did you find the book?”

Natasha turned back to the laptop and started scrolling. “This might take a while,” she said.

Maria tucked her phone away and looked over Nat’s shoulder. She shook her head; the barrage of photos actually seemed to have expanded since the last time she saw it.

“Who would’ve thought Captain America would be so into Pinterest?” Jim wondered out loud.

“I doubt Erskine could have predicted that,” said Natasha absently. She clicked on the picture of the guest book, zooming in and bringing up the link to the Etsy page. “Here we go.”

“Sold out,” Jim sighed.

“And all the books like it will take at least fourteen days,” Natasha added.

“Damn Etsy products and their unicorn tears,” Maria cursed softly. “Okay, so we can’t get the book they want or one like it, and if we get them a cheap one, they’ll have our hides.” She blew out a frustrated breath, feeling her carefully held wedding planner control start to fray at the edges. “Any ideas?”

“Well,” Jim began, after a thoughtful pause, “I hate to state the obvious here, but do they even need a guest book? Last wedding I went to didn’t have one, and I didn’t miss it.” He frowned. “Or maybe I just didn’t see it. I wasn’t really looking to sign it, I was only there out of politeness.”

“And the food?” Natasha asked bluntly.

“And the food,” Jim agreed with a shrug. “Sue me, I got a soft spot for roast beef.”

“Personally, I could do without one,” Maria said, bringing the conversation back on track. “But that’s me. I think Sam and Steve — Steve especially — they probably want one because it’s a keepsake.”

“A keepsake...” Natasha mused. She shook her head, baffled. “Seems dangerous. All those signatures just lying around? Damn valuable to the right person.”

“You’re scary,” Jim said flatly. “Give me the computer, I have an idea.”

Natasha leaned back, her hair flipping over her shoulder and brushing Maria’s chin. Maria breathed in, caught the scent of Nat’s lavender mint shampoo, and Natasha noticed, tilting her head back intentionally this time, until they were almost touching, and all Maria could smell was her. Nat stepped to the side then, but she winked, and Maria felt her cheeks flush.

“Here we go,” said Jim abruptly, clearly oblivious to whatever exchange was going on behind him — Maria wasn’t sure she understood it herself. “Ten alternatives to a traditional guest book.”

“Alternatives?” Natasha repeated. “Like what?”

“Rocks,” said Jim.

Natasha raised her eyebrows at the same time Maria said, “Huh?”

“You get the guests to write on a rock, and then they toss it in this little wishing well thing,” Jim explained. He clicked on a picture and zoomed in. “It’s cute. And probably pretty easy to build. Wouldn’t take me long.”

“Doesn’t fit the theme, though,” said Maria without really meaning to — she’d heard Steve say it enough times that it sort of just slipped out. “What are the other nine options?”

“Wow, look at this! Fingerprint art,” Jim said excitedly. “There’s balloons or — ooh, a tree! That fits the autumn theme, especially if we get some orange and red ink.”

“Nobody is getting my fingerprints,” Natasha declared.

Maria considered it, then tilted her head in agreement. “Seems an unnecessary risk.”

Jim grimaced. “Okay, good point.”

He kept reading while Natasha went back to tidying up the decor and Maria checked her phone again. No word yet from Bucky or Sarah as to when they might be back with the grooms. Maria watched Natasha neaten the box of wedding favors and tried not to think about how moot the guest book would be if Sam and Steve called the whole thing off tonight. And, as their planner, Maria would have the fun job of calling all the vendors and telling them all—

“Hey, this is interesting,” said Jim suddenly, breaking into Maria’s thoughts. “I like this. You get everyone to write a message on a little piece of paper and stick them all in a piñata. Then, on their one-year anniversary, they break it open and read all the notes. Isn’t that sweet?”

Over his head, Maria and Natasha exchanged a look. Maria could tell they were thinking the same thing.

“Um,” she said tactfully, while Nat just shook her head as she bent to look at the computer screen over Jim’s shoulder.

“You realize this means they’d have a piñata. In their apartment. For a _year._ ”

“Definitely doesn’t fit the theme,” Maria added. “Also, isn’t that a pretty violent way to celebrate your first year of marriage?”

Jim blinked a few times before nodding. “Yeah, okay. The more I think about it.... They probably have enough violence in their lives as it is.” 

“Now, this is cool,” said Natasha, pointing at something on the screen. “A framed photo, and everybody signs the mat.”

“That is nice,” Maria agreed. She leaned close enough that she could see, and she found herself wrapped up in Natasha’s scent again. She refused to let herself close her eyes or breathe deeply, even though she really wanted to.

“Sounds like a good keepsake,” Jim remarked. He got to his feet with a wince and headed back to the couch to stretch out his legs. “Assuming you have a nice picture of them, of course.”

“Oh yeah, lots,” Maria mumbled. She stepped away from Natasha so she could think logistics. “We’ll have to print one, get it resized, matted, and buy a frame. Can we do all that in two days?”

“Sure,” Nat said easily. “We can even do that in Louisiana, assuming we have a digital copy of the photo.”

“I’ll get the flash drive,” said Maria, heading for Sam and Steve’s spare bedroom.

She felt a twinge of guilt opening the door and entering an empty room full of a life interrupted — a coffee-stained mug beside Steve’s small easel, Sam’s reading glasses folded into a book on the armchair — and she hated herself for rummaging through the desk, but she knew she’d seen Steve tuck his thumb drive into the top drawer the last time she was there for one of their planning sessions. She lifted out the raggedy, over-stuffed notebook that was definitely Steve’s wedding binder, so she could reach into the back corners—

“Dammit,” she muttered, as the binder hit the floor, sending loose sheets of paper everywhere.

She bent to collect them, pausing with the last one in her hand. This paper was thicker, more yellow in the artificial light. Drawing paper. Curious, she unfolded it, and gasped at the sketch — Sam holding Steve, flying — along with the handwritten message across the top of the page.

“Guys,” she called. “I think I found the picture we should use...”

* * *

Bucky watched as the sweat poured down Steve’s face and arms. His hair was clammy with it, his shirt soaked. The overbeaten bag was leaking sand now, in a thin steady stream that spiked every time Steve’s fists connected with the cracking leather.

Bucky sighed. “Steve,” he said, for the fourth or fifth time.

“Bucky,” Steve said, for the fourth or fifth time.

“How long you planning to keep this up?”

“Depends,” said Steve. “You change your mind about sparring?”

“Nope,” Bucky replied.

Out of habit, he flexed his left shoulder. No matter how many times he expected it, the weightless sensation of the empty socket always seemed to come as a pleasant surprise. His phone buzzed with a text from Maria, the first one in a while.

_We’re working the problem from our end. Just try to limit his damage if possible._

Bucky nodded — he was already doing that by not letting Steve fight anything that might hit him back — and replied, _Will do._

“That Sam?” asked Steve.

Bucky levelled his gaze at Steve, who seemed to be avoiding his eye. “Why would Sam be texting me?”

Steve spoke between jabs. “Well, he sure as hell ain’t talking to me.”

“And whose fault is that?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself.

“Mine,” Steve growled. His hits became harder, faster, punctuating each word. “HYDRA’s. The Internet’s. The whole. Fucking. World.”

The chain suspending the bag from the ceiling finally cracked under the strain — frankly, Bucky was surprised it had held out this long — and one last punch sent the bag flying, a trail of sand in its wake. The thump of it hitting the floor resonated up through Bucky’s feet, almost to his knees, like experiencing an explosion from a mile away.

With nothing left to punch, Steve stood in the center of the training room, panting, his flushed face glinting with sweat.

“Feel better?” Bucky asked him.

All at once, Steve’s face crumpled. “No,” he said, his voice cracking mid-syllable.

“Oh, crap,” said Bucky in alarm. “No, Stevie, don’t—”

But it was too late. Steve had sunk into a seated position, right in the middle of the sand pile he had created in the gym, his shoulders heaving with ugly, ragged sobs.

It’d been a long damn time since Bucky had seen Steve cry, and his vision seemed to flicker, transposing a younger, smaller Steve over the present — the Steve of the past, skinny and blonde, sitting all alone beside a wooden grave marker on a sunny Friday afternoon in October. Sarah Rogers’ birthday, he realized.

“Hey,” Bucky said softly, moving like he had in that memory, sitting down on the gritty earth — tile floor, he reminded himself — and putting his arm around Steve’s shaking shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

He caught himself mouthing Steve’s next line — _She’s really gone, Buck_ — when Steve drew in a deep breath. But Steve didn’t speak, giving Bucky a chance to focus, to remember where they were, what year it was, and why Steve was crying.

When it seemed like Steve’s sobs were slowing down a little, Bucky let go, shifting back enough that he could dig out the handkerchief he kept in his right pocket. He never used it, but walking around without carrying one just seemed wrong somehow.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbled. He blew his nose. “What do I do now, Bucky?”

“Well,” Bucky said slowly. “I’d say get drunk, but...”

“Yeah,” said Steve thickly. “That won’t help.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, hoping that Steve understood he meant it for more than just the booze. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

Steve nodded. “Not very good at this either, huh.”

“Guess not,” Bucky said.

They sat on the dirty floor in silence a while, Steve sniffing periodically, until Bucky was struck with a thought, another memory.

“Hey,” he said suddenly. “Do you remember that big fight my parents had?”

“Uh,” said Steve. “Maybe?”

“I think we were about twelve years old,” Bucky recounted. He wasn’t sure he was telling the story right; it was jumbled, like all his old memories were. “My folks had to go to a wedding, I think—”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Steve said, nodding. “We had to babysit your sisters.”

Bucky frowned, concentrating, but, try as he might, he just couldn’t remember that part. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Well, us kids were really upset, and I remember my ma said something. She said not to worry because sometimes there are things worth fighting for _._ ”

Bucky could practically hear his mother’s voice as he finished speaking, and felt a little bubble of sadness well up, but along with it was pride — for remembering, for using his mother’s wisdom when it was needed most.

Steve smiled, soft and watery. “Worth fighting for, huh?” he repeated.

“I mean, if you think about it, it makes sense,” Bucky went on, gaining confidence. “What’s the alternative, apathy? Tell me that’s healthy.”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “Yeah, I could see that.”

“How many fights like this have you and Sam had?”

“Just this one,” Steve replied with no hesitation.

“And it was about the wedding,” Bucky reminded him. “That to me seems like something worth fighting for.”

Steve shook his head. “Not just the wedding,” he mumbled. “The future.”

“That’s worth fighting for, too,” said Bucky fiercely. He gripped Steve’s shoulder again.

There was silence for a moment before Steve spoke again. “We’ve been talking about retiring,” he admitted softly.

Bucky blinked, taking a few seconds to process that. “Makes sense,” he said. “You’re getting married, maybe it’s time to settle down and have a life.”

Steve nodded. “But Sam’s been through this already. He got out once before. Had a life and everything, before I came along and dragged him back into a war.”

“Is that how Sam would put it?” Bucky asked, giving Steve a skeptical look.

Steve thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Probably not.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bucky sighed. “Okay, first of all, Steve, you have got to stop doing that thing where you carry everybody else’s choices on your shoulders. Sam chose to follow you into a war because he thought it was the right thing to do. He chose to fight, to stop—” _me_ , he almost said, “HYDRA, same as you. For the greater good.”

Steve smiled a little, his eyes getting cloudy again. “He’s a hero.”

“Same as you,” Bucky repeated softly. “And secondly, there’s no law that says you have to give up all the superheroing the minute you get married. This is the life that you and Sam have, the life you’ve built, and I’ve seen you fight — you’re better together than you are apart.”

“That is true,” said Steve.

“So, retire or don’t retire, do whatever you want, so long as you do it together,” Bucky concluded.

He wasn’t sure when he’d started speaking so loudly, so passionately, but Steve was nodding more and sniffing less, so he assumed that this was a good thing.

“But no matter what you decide to do in the future,” Bucky added, “the big question is, do you want to do it with Sam, at Sam’s side, no matter what?”

“I do,” Steve said.

Bucky shrugged and smiled. “There you go. Nothing to it. You say those words in two days, in front of God and everybody, but you say them to Sam every day, and Sam says them back, and the two of you can take on anything. Okay?”

“Okay.” Steve smiled faintly. “You learn that from one of those romantic comedies Nat makes you watch?”

Bucky laughed, surprised to find his own eyes wet. “Probably,” he admitted. “Speechifying was always your gig, Steve, I’m just making this up as I go along.”

“Then I’d say you’re a damn good improviser,” Steve told him. “And one hell of a best man.”

Bucky didn’t reply, except to yank Steve close, even though he didn’t quite fit under Bucky’s arm the way he used to.

They sat a moment in silence, before Bucky exhaled and said, “We should clean up this mess and get you home to your fiancé.”

“Assuming I still have one,” Steve muttered.

“Knock that off,” Bucky snapped, but there wasn’t any real heat to it. “Sam’s not gonna take off because of—”

“I fucked up, Bucky,” Steve said, pushing away and getting to his feet again.

Bucky stayed seated, watching Steve pace. He was gesturing wildly, and Bucky wondered if it was time to hang up a new bag.

“I forgot the most important thing, the one thing that Sam asked me to— and that’s just it,” he interrupted himself, spinning and pointing down at Bucky. “How is he supposed to count on me when I can’t even get the damn guest book right?”

“Hey,” said Bucky, grabbing Steve’s extended hand and pulling himself up again. “How many times do you think Sam would say that you’ve let him down?”

Steve blinked. “I— what?”

“Think about it,” Bucky said. “Do you think that Sam has ever felt like you let him down?”

After a lengthy pause, Steve said, “I don’t know.”

“Because you haven’t. Ever,” Bucky insisted.

“But the guest book—”

“Stevie, it’s just a guest book. It’s nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I guarantee you that’s what Sam’s gonna say, too, as soon as he’s cooled off. Okay?”

Bucky watched Steve think it through; he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. He blinked once, twice, and then his lips twitched. Slowly, the tension drained from him, and he laughed, just a little.

“It’s just a guest book,” he repeated.

Bucky nodded. “Just a guest book. Now, come on, get the broom.”

Steve nodded, and together they cleaned up the mess and shut off the training room lights before they left. They walked in silence towards the stairwell, but Steve hesitated at the door.

“I just wanted everything to be perfect,” he said. “Like, I thought my fears would go away if....”

“If you became a checklist-obsessed control freak?” Bucky suggested. He pushed open the door and held it open. Steve glared as he went through.

“I wouldn’t put it like that, but...”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Bucky agreed fondly. “Making fun of you is my job.”

Steve blew out an exasperated breath and started to climb. “Thanks, Bucky. Love you, too.”

* * *

It wasn’t until they got to the beach that Sam started talking. Sarah wasn’t surprised; even when they were kids he was silent right after a fight, and the only time she ever met Riley, he told her about the way he did check-ins every thirty seconds, since Sam liked to keep quiet in a firefight, too. He tended to act in the moment and talk about it later, and his work, both at the VA and with the Avengers, seemed to have only increased this tendency.

So Sam quietly walking beside her, looking out over the water, bending down to pick up a flat rock and turning it over and over again in his hands — this was familiar.

“I’m an idiot,” he said, finally chucking the rock out into the ocean. It didn’t skip.

“Why’s that?” Sarah asked patiently.

Sam crouched down, selected another rock, and threw it before answering. “The way I spoke to him. The things I said. He didn’t deserve that.”

Sarah nodded. She scanned the rocky ground at their feet, grabbed a flat stone of her own, and tossed it with a flick of her wrist. She counted four skips before it sank into an oncoming wave.

“Show-off,” Sam muttered.

“Just more experience,” Sarah demurred. She adopted an accent not unlike their late grandfather’s. “Been skippin’ rocks since ’fore you were born, boy.”

In the shifting light reflected off the water, Sarah caught her brother’s smile, the way it bloomed up, bright and familiar, then slipped away almost as fast.

“You ain’t that old,” Sam teased, but Sarah could tell that his heart wasn’t in it.

“Sam,” she said, soft and serious, and, at last, Sam’s dam burst.

“He did all that work — did practically everything — and I just couldn’t let this one thing go, could I? Had to give him shit for something that probably wasn’t even his fault.” He kicked at a rock, flipping it up off the toe of his running shoe so that it landed in the shallow water with a loud plop. “What the hell is wrong with me, Sarah?”

“Nothing’s wrong with you, Sam,” Sarah reassured him.

“Then what was that?” he demanded, whirling on her. “Six months ago I couldn’t have cared less about a damn guest book, and now—”

“You’re just stressed,” Sarah said. She bent down and picked up a smooth rock. “Here, let me show you something.”

Sarah knew it was silly, a method that Sam, with his education and experience in counselling would probably write off as pop psych nonsense, but still— if it worked....

“Hold this,” she instructed, folding Sam’s hand around the stone. “I want you to hang on to this while you tell me what you and Steve were really fighting about tonight.”

“A worry stone?” Sam asked, his mouth twisted in an almost-smirk.

“Yes,” said Sarah. “Rub it, squeeze it, run your fingers against—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Sam interrupted. He was definitely smirking now.

Sarah fought to keep a straight face herself. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Samuel,” she said, with just enough of their mother’s tone for Sam’s eyes to widen.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he said meekly.

“Now,” Sarah began more seriously. “Why do you think you were so upset about the guest book?”

Every ounce of humor dropped out of her brother’s face at once, and Sarah felt a pang of regret for taking it away.

“I don’t know,” Sam sighed. “We had everything else all ready to go — Maria is a gift, I swear to God,” he added. “I guess... I started thinking that maybe everything would work out.”

“And that bothered you?”

Sam looked out over the water again. His hand contracted around the rock, and Sarah could see his thumb moving, tracing the edge of the oval-shaped stone.

“Maybe?” he said finally. “Like it just hit me or something, I went, _Whoa, this is really happening_.”

Sarah nodded. “Been there.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t remember you losing your head like this, two days before your wedding.”

“Then you must not have been paying attention,” Sarah replied. She thought back to those long nights leading up to her wedding. “I couldn’t sleep, could hardly eat. Every time I so much as smelled food, I thought I was gonna hurl.”

“Cold feet, huh,” Sam murmured.

“Cold feet,” Sarah affirmed. “Felt more like panic at the time, though.”

Sam hummed thoughtfully. “But Steve... man, that guy never loses his cool. And tonight it pissed me off, the way he was so calm about looking for the guest book, that I guess I pushed him, picked a fight,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath. “He had everything so together, he always has. Since day one he’s been lapping me, I’ll never catch up.”

Sarah held her breath, waiting to see if Sam would realize what he just said.

“Goddammit,” he muttered a minute later, which Sarah took as a yes. She opened her mouth to reply, but he spoke again.

“That makes sense, I guess. I mean, if I’m feeling a certain way, I’m gonna look for evidence to back that up, it’s what anxiety does to a person.”

“Sure,” said Sarah, though Sam really didn’t seem to hear her. He started moving the stone from one hand to the other, his fists clenching and releasing in a steady rhythm.

“But that brings me right back to where I started,” he said at length. “He didn’t deserve that.”

“And you deserved the hurtful things he said to you?” Sarah asked bluntly.

Sam turned, startled.

“The answer is no, Sammy,” Sarah prompted. “You both hurt each other, it’s what happens sometimes.”

“Yeah, but still,” Sam mumbled, looking down at his feet.

“Still nothing,” Sarah insisted. “Look, relationships are complicated, and the two of you are complicated. Fights happen. The important thing is that you work through what you fought about, figure out what’s at the heart of it, and deal with it.”

Sam nodded slowly. “That makes sense,” he said again.

“Of course it does,” said Sarah, trying a smile. “Big sister knows best.”

Sam grinned at her then, his teeth bright in the glow of the moon and light pollution, and he pulled her close for a tight hug.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled by Sarah’s hair. “I love you, thank you.”

“Love you too, Sammy,” Sarah replied, blinking back a few tears that were threatening to spill.

“One more thing,” Sam said a little hesitantly, as he pulled away. “And you don’t have to answer this question if you don’t want to, but I was wondering—”

“Spit it out, Sam,” Sarah said, huffing out a tiny laugh.

Sam chuckled, but it was also short-lived. “I know you don’t talk too much about Damian,” he began. “But, if you could do it all over again, would you still— I mean, do you think you would—”

“Would I still marry him?” Sarah guessed. Sam nodded. “Yeah,” she said. She’d given this some serious thought in the last three years. “I would.”

“Why?” Sam asked, like he couldn’t help himself.

“Because there’s no such thing as a sure thing,” Sarah said simply. “And it’s scary. But that doesn’t mean we should listen to that fear and never try. You take that attitude with anything else in your life?” she asked.

Her brother, the superhero who’d signed up for an experimental flight suit program and now regularly flew into war zones with very little between him and his enemies’ bullets, shook his head.

“That’s what I thought,” Sarah said.

“Guess I just needed to hear you say it,” said Sam.

Sarah sighed and took both Sam’s hands in her own. “I’d love to tell you that you’re gonna get a happy ending, that the same thing that happened to me won’t happen to you in five years, but I can’t lie to you, Sammy, and I won’t. But, divorce or not, single mother or not, I’d take that chance again.”

Sam’s eyes were downcast, and he was blinking furiously at the sand. “Thanks, sis.”

Sarah tugged him close again. “You and Steve are so solid,” she said into his ear. “More solid than any couple I ever met, and that’s no lie. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam said with a nod.

“And, what do you mean, Steve never loses his cool?” she added, pulling back. “He didn’t seem so cool tonight, and, if I’m not mistaken, he punches tanks for a living.”

Sam swiped his cheek roughly. “Not exactly cool,” he agreed with a small laugh. “I guess he freaks out sometimes, too. When he’s scared.”

“Same as anyone,” said Sarah. “Same as you.”

Sam nodded, and neither of them spoke for a moment. They watched the water as it rolled in and back out, steady and gentle, the waves tipped with the smallest amount of white foam. A cool wind drifted across Sarah’s neck, and she caught herself shivering. She folded her arms across her chest and was just about to ask Sam if he wanted to go back, when Sam turned to her and opened his hand, revealing the stone.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

“You can keep it for your next freak-out,” Sarah suggested, “but if I were you, I’d chuck it in the ocean.”

Sam flipped the rock over and over in his hands. “Good rock for skipping,” he mused. “Can you teach me to do it like you do?”

Sarah grinned and started hunting for her own stone to demonstrate. “What are big sisters for?”

* * *

Maria had scanned the sketch into the computer, and was just putting a few final tweaks on the digitized version, when the apartment door opened. She and Natasha exchanged a glance — Maria had sent Rhodes back to the guest quarters an hour ago since there wasn’t much more he could do, and Maria could tell from the way he walked that his braces were getting uncomfortable — and a moment later, Steve appeared in the doorway to the office.

“Hi,” he said awkwardly.

“Are you all right?” Natasha asked him, her tone a bit sharp. Her eyes were narrowed, moving quickly up and down Steve’s body. Maria did the same, taking in his red eyes and the rings of dried sweat on his shirt, the pink freshly-healed skin on his knuckles.

Steve drew in a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. “I think so,” he said, though his voice wasn’t nearly as steady as the rest of him.

Natasha stepped forward and embraced him, quick and tight, mumbling something into his ear that Maria didn’t catch.

“I hope so,” he said, and Natasha whacked him in the arm. “All right,” he amended with a small smile. “I will.”

“That’s better,” said Nat. She pecked him on the cheek before she slipped around him, heading back to the living room. Maria heard her and Bucky start conversing in Russian a second later.

Steve, meanwhile, stayed put. His back was ramrod straight, his shoulders tight. “Ma’am,” he began.

“At ease, soldier,” Maria reassured him. There was no way she could have this conversation with him looking at her like she was a firing squad.

Steve relaxed, but only incrementally. “I just wanted to apologize. You shouldn’t have had to come up here in the middle of the night.”

“Part of the job,” Maria replied, dismissing it with a wave of her hand. Steve bit his bottom lip, though, so she added, “Really, you don’t have to apologize. The fact that we’ve come this far without a meltdown is kind of a miracle in and of itself.”

The corners of Steve’s mouth tilted up in a half-smile that faded fast. “Sam didn’t come back?”

“Not yet,” Maria corrected him gently. “He and Sarah walked down to the beach, so they’re a little further away than you were.”

Steve nodded absently. His eyes travelled around the room and settled on the laptop, still open to the image of his sketch. He pointed. “Is that—?”

“Yeah,” Maria said, deciding there was no sense in trying to hide it now. “I’m going to get it printed, so—”

“You want to put it up at the wedding?” Steve interrupted. He shook his head. “Seems kind of egotistical.”

Maria suppressed a smile at the fact that the fear of appearing full of himself was apparently enough to distract Steve from everything else that had happened tonight.

“That’s kind of the point,” she told him. “It’s a wedding, Steve, the whole thing is egotistical. But no, I don’t want to put it up. We were thinking you could—”

The apartment door opened again, and Steve turned sharply away, like a dog who’d caught a new scent. He seemed unable to stop himself from moving forward, down the hall towards Sam’s low, steady voice.

“Well, it’ll be a surprise,” Maria said to herself. She saved the image and removed the USB stick, slipping it into her pocket as she followed Steve out. “I’m borrowing your flash drive, okay?”

Steve mumbled something over his shoulder that Maria took for assent.

In the living room, Natasha was leaning against the still-open door. She had already pulled on her shoes and held out Maria’s to her as she drew near.

“We cleaned up all your stuff,” Natasha said to Sam. “Didn’t even steal anything.”

“Appreciate that,” Sam murmured.

Bucky stepped out into the hall, no doubt a little flustered by the small crowd that had gathered just inside the apartment. Sarah, meanwhile, was watching her brother closely as he approached his fiancé.

“Am I going to have to tell you two to play nice?” she asked.

Sam sent her an exasperated look at the same time Bucky called, “Maybe you better, just in case.”

“Goodnight, Bucky,” Steve said pointedly.

“Thanks, Sarah,” said Sam, kissing his sister on the cheek. “See you in the morning.”

Maria hesitated before following Natasha and Sarah into the hall. “I assume we’re still going to Louisiana tomorrow?”

Sam looked over her shoulder and gave Steve a cautious smile. Maria turned in time to see Steve send it right back, bashful and blushing. They both nodded.

“Good,” she murmured. “Then I’ll expect you on the tarmac at 8:30,” she added. She was trying to sound stern, but she had a feeling the order came out as mushy and relieved as she felt.

“Yes, Ma’am,” said Sam without a trace of irony. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Maria echoed. She gave them each one more serious nod before she headed out and closed the door behind her, exhaling a sigh of relief.

Maybe they’d get through this after all.

* * *

In the silence of their suddenly empty apartment, Sam looked at Steve, and Steve looked back at Sam. Sam could feel that his face was warm with embarrassment, and, after a moment, Steve looked down, shy as well. The air was thick around them, like traces of the hurtful things they’d said earlier were draped along the walls and ceiling.

“So,” Sam began, clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” Steve replied.

“First real fight,” Sam observed. He took a cautious step forward, and Steve did the same.

“At least we made it a good one,” Steve said, sounding like he was trying to make a joke and not quite pulling it off.

“Sure did,” Sam said. He sighed, unsure where to go from here, but Steve saved him the trouble.

“I think... I got a little lost,” he explained, though it came out more like a question than an answer. “Trying to make everything perfect. I thought... I only had one chance to get it right.”

Sam nodded. He thought of all the weight he himself had given the wedding. Since getting engaged, he’d assumed that it would change everything, that his life would become unrecognizable to him afterwards. No wonder he’d had cold feet for months.

And Steve had, too, he realized. He recognized the emotion behind Steve’s words, the emotion that had probably been there before, only he’d been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t seen it. Steve was just as anxious as Sam was, only he’d expressed it in actions — in creating and following a tactical strategy, in wedding planning — instead of words.

Punching tanks, he thought suddenly, remembering what Sarah had said.

“And all I could see was how perfect you are,” Sam mumbled.

Steve frowned. “Sam, I’m—”

“I know,” Sam cut him off. He wasn’t sure he could hear those words — _I’m not perfect_ — without thinking of how Steve shouted them at him a couple of hours ago. “I know you’re not perfect, baby, but—”

“No, I’m not,” Steve agreed vehemently. “I let you down. With the guest book, and I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t.” Sam shook his head. “It’s just a guest book. I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. But, standing next to you, sometimes it’s a lot of pressure. You’ve been so on top of this whole wedding thing since day one, I guess I just....”

Sam trailed off. Steve was very close to him now, his hands warm on Sam’s hips, so Sam closed his eyes. This was the heart of it, the shameful truth that pinched his heart and twisted his stomach.

“I was scared and stressed, and... I got lost, too,” he admitted finally, borrowing Steve’s turn of phrase. “I’m sorry, Steve. I picked a fight.”

He opened his eyes to see a faint smile come over Steve’s face. “That’s normally my line.”

“I know,” Sam said, ducking his head.

“I’m sorry, too,” Steve said softly. “I didn’t want to fight tonight, but I’m glad we did.”

Sam looked up, puzzled.

“Some fights are worth having,” Steve went on. “Without it, I wouldn’t have realized that the wedding doesn’t matter. I mean, it matters... but you and me, Sam, that matters so much more.”

“And that’s gonna be the same,” Sam told him, “guest book or not.”

“ _Wedding_ or not,” Steve corrected him. “Bucky said something interesting to me tonight. He said that we don’t just say _I do_ one time. We say it every day.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Today, tomorrow, the next day.”

“Forever,” Steve added.

Somehow, when Sam heard it from Steve’s lips, the word seemed to lose its panic-inducing qualities. Steve was with him, Steve would catch him. He swallowed hard and nodded.

“Forever,” he repeated.

Steve squeezed Sam’s hands with a soft smile. “So, whether we keep fighting bad guys or retire and have eight kids—”

“Eight?” Sam echoed, a surprised laugh bubbling up through his chest.

Steve chuckled, too. “Or two. Or none. The point is, I’m with you, Sam.”

“I’m with you, too,” Sam told him, and Steve leaned in to kiss him.

Steve’s mouth was gentle, cautious, and the tenderness there made Sam’s chest hurt, to think that Steve saw him as something precious, something to be protected. Sam kissed him back just as softly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s back, stepping into Steve’s familiar warmth and steady strength, as solid as the horizon that kept Sam stable in flight.

Sam pulled back just enough to say, “I love you,” and Steve stopped, staring at Sam, his expression open and naked in a way that no one but Sam ever saw.

“I love you,” he echoed hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” said Sam. “Can we make up now?”

Steve kissed him one more time before hauling Sam up into his arms and carrying him to the bedroom.

 


	9. Dry Run (1 Day Before)

Steve woke up to the sound of the shower running and immediately jumped out of bed to check the time, anxious at the thought of how late Sam had let him sleep in, considering the day they had ahead of them. But Steve’s phone — his best timekeeper since Sam’s old alarm clock bit the dust three months ago — wasn’t on the dresser where he was sure he’d left it last night. He frowned and spun to check the nightstand, but no dice.

“Strange,” he muttered.

He shook it off and found his watch instead, relieved to find that he’d not slept late at all. It seemed that Sam had just gotten up extra early, which triggered a little more worry in the pit of his stomach. He paced the bedroom a moment before he gave in and crossed the hall, knocking gently on the bathroom door before entering the steam-filled room.

“Morning,” Sam called from the other side of the curtain.

“Hey, babe,” Steve greeted him. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, but he sounded a little uncertain.

“Mind if I join you in there?”

Last week — hell, yesterday morning — Steve wouldn’t have asked; he’d have jumped right in. But there was something off today, Steve could feel it. Whether it was some lingering bad energy from their fight or something else, he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t like it.

Sam poked his head out. “Come on in. I’m almost done anyway.”

“You should’ve woke me,” Steve commented, stepping in.

“But you looked so peaceful,” Sam said, his joking tone almost normal. He turned his back on Steve to rinse his chest under the spray. “Figured you could use a little extra rest.”

“And what about you?”

Sam shrugged. “I’m good,” he replied. He turned again, gripped Steve’s forearms and ducked in to brush his lips against Steve’s. “Now dance with me, I’m getting out.”

They spun slowly in the small space, until the water was hitting the nape of Steve’s neck. Sam kissed him again — just as quickly — then tugged the curtain aside and stepped out.

“I’ll get started on breakfast,” he announced.

“Thanks,” Steve said automatically.

Less than a minute later the bathroom door closed, and Sam was gone.    

While he showered, Steve wondered what could be wrong. He’d fallen asleep untroubled, certain that he and Sam were closer than ever, but now Sam seemed to be keeping him at a distance, handling their interaction like something recently repaired but still fragile. It bothered him, niggling uncomfortably under the skin, that maybe he and Sam weren’t done fighting yet.

By the time he shut the water off, he’d decided there was no point in chasing this worry around his head. There was an easier way to find out if something was wrong: he’d ask.

* * *

There was soft music playing in the kitchen by the time Steve left the bathroom to get dressed. He took another cursory look around the bedroom as he did, but there was still no sign of his phone. He grabbed Sam’s, though, and followed the smells of coffee and bacon to the kitchen. Sam smiled at him when Steve entered the room, then turned his attention back to the stove almost immediately.

Steve drew a breath, but before he could get a word of his important question out, Sam’s phone rang in his hand. It was Sam’s mother, so Steve answered it and put it on speaker while Sam flicked off the radio.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson, you’re up early.”

“Good morning, Steve,” Sam’s mother sang. “Where are you hiding my boy?”

“Hi, Mama,” Sam called. “You’re on speaker.”

“Oh, good, because I need to tell both my grooms something. It’s about the seating plan.”

For a second, the weird tension between them vanished as Sam sent Steve a dismayed look that Steve was certain matched his own. Arranging the seating plan had been a grueling task; to have to revisit it now, one day before the wedding, would be nothing short of torture.

“What about it?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this or not, but Mrs. Thompson had knee surgery last month, so if you can put her near the aisle, that’d probably be a kindness to her.”

Sam’s head jerked up in alarm. He looked to Steve, baffled, and Steve quickly shook his head. He didn’t know any more about this than Sam did. He reached over and turned off the stove, since Sam seemed to have forgotten about it completely, while Mrs. Wilson carried on.

“She’d never ask, she wouldn’t want to be a bother or get special treatment, and I told her it wouldn’t be special to accommodate for her knee hurting, but you know Janet, always—”

“Mama,” Sam interjected finally. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s not a big deal if you can’t, I understand, it was just something I thought of this morning and I thought I’d give you a ring and—”

“Mama,” Sam said again, more forcefully. His breathing had become a little erratic.

“Mrs. Wilson,” Steve put in, leading Sam to sit down at the table. “The Thompsons didn’t RSVP. They’re not coming.”

“Yes, they did, remember?” Mrs. Wilson said, for the first time sounding uncertain. “They missed the date, but Janet called me last week, said all three of them— oh dear lord,” she gasped. “I forgot to tell you, didn’t I?”

“I think that might have been the case,” Steve told her diplomatically. He didn’t like the way Sam had gone silent, his face turning a little ashen like it did when he got the flu.

“I am so sorry,” Sam’s mother said. She started to say more, but Steve intervened.

“We’ll talk to Maria and get back to you, okay?”

“Samuel?”

“Yeah,” Sam croaked. “We’ll call you back.”

Steve ended the call, since Sam didn’t seem capable of moving, and dragged his chair close enough that he could wrap Sam up in his arms. They stayed like that for a long, silent moment while Steve’s mind raced, running the gamut of potential fallout: from emotional damage control if Sam didn’t want the Thompsons there to the seating plan and catering logistics if he did.

Finally, Sam heaved in a ragged breath. Slowly, he let it out. “And I thought your last-minute guest was bad,” he murmured.

Steve frowned. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Huh?”

Sam shifted away, digging in the pocket of his jeans and pulling out Steve’s phone. He set it on the table and unlocked it — like Sam’s, it was coded to both their fingerprints — and slid it over, so Steve could better see the screen.

_Thanks for the invite, looking forward to seeing you and Sam tomorrow — Tony_

In light of everything that was running through Steve’s head in terms of the Thompsons, the message seemed almost incomprehensible, and Steve had to read it a few times before it finally sank in.

“Oh,” Steve breathed. “Well, that’s... news.”

“Yeah. Sorry, baby,” Sam mumbled. “I was planning to tell you over breakfast.”

Steve nodded, but he pushed the phone away. It could wait. “Nothing to be sorry about,” he said. “I’m a lot more worried about you.”

Sam didn’t reply. He was staring glumly down at the table. Steve pulled him as close as he could and kissed Sam’s forehead.

“They don’t have to come,” he reminded Sam gently. “They didn’t RSVP, so even if it weren’t for all the awful things Finn said, we’re well within our rights to turn them away.”

“No,” Sam said.

“No?”

Sam looked up, his steady eyes finding Steve’s. “If they want to come, I want them there.”

Steve bit his tongue but nodded. “Okay.”

“You don’t,” Sam said. It wasn’t a question.

Steve could feel his jaw clenching, and he forced himself to relax. “No. I don’t. Until he apologizes for hurting you, Sam, I don’t think Finn deserves a second chance.”

Sam smiled sadly. “Sometimes you don’t deserve second chances when you get them. You earn them afterwards.”

For one blinding moment, Steve couldn’t see anything aside from how _good_ Sam was, the way his first impulse was to give people the benefit of the doubt, to forgive and offer compassion above all else, despite all hurt. Steve loved that about Sam; he adored and admired him for it, and, for a second, he could see nothing else.

So he opened his mouth to warn Sam, to protect him against Finn — or anyone — taking advantage of his forgiving nature, but then he noticed the way Sam’s jaw was set, and he remembered that Sam tempered his trust with level-headed practicality. He was full of love, but he wasn’t naive, and he didn’t take foolish chances when it came to matters of the heart.

If he was okay with Finn showing up, all but unannounced, to their wedding, then Sam had clearly assessed the situation and decided to take that chance. Nothing Steve could say would change his mind, and pressing the issue might turn into another argument, which Steve really didn’t have the stomach for.

“Okay,” Steve said at last. “But if he says anything hurtful again—”

“I know,” Sam interrupted. He gave Steve a half-smile. “You’ll tear him limb from limb, right?”

“Nothing that extreme,” Steve protested, faking an injured tone. “I was thinking more of a stern glare, maybe a talking-to.”

“From Captain America, that’s almost as bad,” Sam teased. He yawned suddenly, and Steve got to his feet to pour them some coffee.

“I’ll call Maria after we eat, ask her to get in touch with the caterer,” he said, setting a mug down in front of Sam and heading to the stove to take over the task of cooking breakfast. “Hopefully it’s not too late to add four to the head count.”

Sam nodded and took a few long sips of his coffee. “Four,” he repeated. “So you’re good with Tony, then?”

Steve frowned thoughtfully as he flipped the bacon. He hadn’t meant to say that, but since he had....

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he said slowly. “Typical Tony, barging in with next to no notice — I don’t think it even occurred to me not to be okay with it.”

“Well, you know where I stand,” Sam reminded him, “so the choice is yours. I’m with you.”

Steve shook his head, in awe once again over Sam’s goodness. He removed the bacon from the pan and made a detour on his way to get the eggs from the fridge, so he could give Sam a slow, coffee-flavored kiss.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he murmured against Sam’s lips. “To find somebody so good as you.”

Sam smiled softly. “Same, baby. Same.”

* * *

As Steve had expected, Maria wasn’t too thrilled about having to call the caterer and change the number of guests, but when they got to the tarmac and started loading up the jet, she informed him that there was no problem.

“Apparently this sort of thing happens all the time,” she said, sounding like she couldn’t imagine living with that sort of disorganization as a constant possibility. “And you don’t have to worry about the venue, since we’re well under capacity; setting out a few more chairs isn’t a problem. Tony will sit with Jim, and the Thompsons will be up by your mom, Sam, is that cool?”

“That’s great,” Sam assured her.

“Thank you,” Steve said sincerely. “For everything. Really.”

Maria waved a hand. “Don’t get all mushy, Cap, it’s just a job.”

Her eyes tracked something over Steve’s shoulder, and she smiled suddenly. Steve turned to catch a glimpse of Natasha at the top of the loading ramp, her hair flying like she’d just moved very quickly. When Steve turned back, Maria cleared her throat, her cheeks coloring, and she turned away to follow Nat into the jet.

“Who’s getting mushy now?” Sam asked in an undertone.

Steve chuckled, surprised but pleased. “Well, I guess that explains why Bucky won’t come out and say that he and Nat are a thing.”

“No kidding,” Sam agreed. “If his girlfriend has a girlfriend, things could get complicated for him pretty quick.”

Steve shrugged, picking up their suitcases and leading the way up the ramp. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Remind me to get Barnes to tell me about that,” said Sam, and Steve grinned because—

“Tell you about what?” asked Bucky, who was lurking around the corner, just inside the cargo hold.

Sam jerked in surprise. “Dammit, man, you have got to quit doing that,” he exclaimed.

“But if I do, I’ll never get to see you make that face again,” Bucky countered with a smirk. He looked to Steve while Sam continued to mutter grouchy things under his breath. “All set?”

Steve scanned the packages scattered around his feet, the formal wear hanging in its bags along the walls, and nodded. “I think so.”

“Good. Then let’s fly.”

* * *

After takeoff, Steve and Sam headed to the officers’ quarters. Sam slept while Steve read — Kerouac, on Clint’s suggestion, but it was very slow-going; Steve kept feeling like he was missing something. Eventually, he gave up. He eased himself out of the small bed, careful not to jostle Sam, who was finally sleeping soundly after almost an hour of rolling around, trying to get comfortable.

Steve found the rest of the group — Bucky, Natasha, Rhodes, Sarah, Maria, Wanda, and Scott — in the lounge area, watching _The Fellowship of the Ring_. Or, presumably they were. Bucky was the only one who seemed focused on the screen; beside him, Natasha was napping, curled up with Maria, who glanced up when Steve appeared, but then closed her eyes again. Wanda was perched on a cushion on the floor with her eyes closed — she seemed to be meditating — while Rhodes, Sarah, and Scott were showing each other pictures on various devices, oohing and awing.

“That was Cassie’s first cartwheel,” Scott said proudly. “Now she’s on the gymnastics team, practices every night. I tell you, that girl’s going to the Olympics some day.”

“I tried to get Jody into gymnastics,” said Sarah, “but Damian wanted her in ballet, so we signed her up, and two years later, I don’t think she’ll ever quit.”

“That’s awesome, though,” Rhodes said. “My sister was like that, and now she teaches a class, says it’s really rewarding.”

“I’ll bet.” Sarah beamed and held up her phone. “This was from her recital three months ago.”

“Aw, look at that tutu,” Scott exclaimed.

Steve sank onto the arm of the sofa beside them, and Sarah tilted the screen in his direction. Jody was just as cute as a bug’s ear in her ballerina outfit, and Steve made sure to tell Sarah so.

“You know,” she said, her eyes bright with mischief. “You and Sam could have one of your own now. Or two. Or eight.”

Steve froze, wondering if Sam had had time to tell her about that part of their conversation last night, but Rhodes spoke before he could ask.

“Jeez, Sarah, way to give the old guy a heart attack,” he laughed, clapping Steve on the back. “Let’s make sure he survives the wedding first.”

* * *

They landed at a private airstrip in Louisiana, greeted by the owner, Joel, whom Steve had met last month, when they flew out to see the venue and meet Sam’s family at the engagement party. Joel, a burly but quiet man, had been paid more than enough not to care that he was hosting an Avengers quinjet, though he did shyly ask Wanda for her autograph to give to his daughter, a small act that put a grin on Wanda’s face for the entirety of their drive into town.

They split up then, Maria dropping Steve, Sam, and the wedding party off at the church before disappearing with Scott and Wanda, saying she had to meet the decorators at the reception hall. Steve frowned — he thought they still had an hour before the decorators arrived — but he shrugged it off as soon as he saw the small group waiting for them on the church steps. The pastor was there, along with Glorianna, the photographer, and Sam’s parents and niece. Jody squirmed away from her grandfather as they approached, racing right past her mother to Sam.

“Oof,” said Sam, staggering when she collided with his legs. “You been working out, Jody Bean?”

She giggled and squealed when Sam picked her up to carry her to the church.

“Hi, Mommy,” she said over Sam’s shoulder, like it was an afterthought.

On Sam’s other side, Sarah shook her head. Steve could tell she was trying not to laugh. “Hi, sweetheart, missed you too.”

They headed inside, and Pastor Dupuis walked them all through the basic components of the ceremony: processional, memorial candle, sermon, vows, paperwork, pronouncement, recessional. The band leader played them a few bars of what she had in mind for the prelude and postlude — Steve would be forever grateful that this church approved the use of secular music, since they were able to incorporate elegant instrumental versions of a lot of their favorites.

Before long, the wedding party was all gathered at the back, ready to practice the processional. At the very front of the line, Jody was standing proud with her mother and Natasha on either side of her. Behind them were Bucky and Jim, Jim on Bucky’s left, so he could hold his weight easily with his metal arm if something happened and Jim fell. Steve and Sam had both insisted that Jim could use his chair instead of the braces, and Bucky didn’t need to have his arm in, but they’d chosen otherwise and stood by that decision.  

“Okay, here we go,” called the band leader over her shoulder, and their song, “At Last,” began.

The opening notes hit Steve with a surprising emotional wallop. His throat tightened, his eyes watered, and he felt weak in the knees. All at once, he was back in 1942, watching the latest Glenn Miller film in that smoky old theatre he’d had to sneak into because he didn’t have two bits to rub together. At the same time, though, he was in Sam’s little backyard in DC, Sam handing him a beer and going to the iPod dock to turn it up because _You just gotta hear this one, man, you won’t believe what you missed in Etta James_. He was on his feet, in Sam’s arms, kissing him against the patio door — their first kiss, their first everything — breaking away only to put the song on repeat because what were the odds of finding someone like Sam, someone who knew the things he knew, even if he knew them from a different era? _Shared life experiences_ didn’t even begin to cover it.

He glanced to his right and was relieved and overwhelmed once more to see a similar tangle of emotion on Sam’s face. He was blinking furiously, pressing his lips together so tightly they were practically bloodless, and Steve just had to lean in and kiss him, to feel his grip on Steve’s hand loosen. When he pulled back, Sam’s cheeks were damp, and Steve’s vision was blurry again.

“Uncle Steve, weren’t you listening?” Jody hissed. “You’re not supposed to do that yet.”

Steve pulled back and laughed at the sight of Jody glaring at him with her tiny hands on her hips. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“Okay, that’s your cue, baby, go, go,” said Sarah.

Jody twirled around and started to march down the aisle. She kept her head held high and mimed the act of throwing flower petals along the aisle and in the direction of several of the imaginary guests.

Sarah and Natasha went next. Natasha whispered something as they took their first steps, and suddenly they started giggling worse than two little kids, their heads tucked close together in an attempt to muffle the sound. Steve looked to Sam for an explanation, but Sam just shrugged. He was grinning now, and Steve was, too.

Bucky half-turned and gave Steve a tiny salute just before he and Jim set off, leaving Steve alone with Sam. He waited until their moment, and then Sam kissed his cheek, and away they went.

The walk up the aisle seemed to take no time at all, a fact Steve attributed to nerves until he realized that Sam had been setting their pace too fast, and they reached the altar ahead of their musical cue.

“Whatever happened to you being slower than me?” Steve asked when the band cut the song off early.

“Sorry, baby,” Sam chuckled. “Promise it won’t happen again.”

The pastor took over then, giving them a breakdown of the brief sermon she’d prepared and walking them through the vows — they’d decided not to write their own — before leading them over to the signing table. The papers were there already, and the pastor pointed out where Bucky and Sarah needed to sign as witnesses. Steve skimmed the contract and nodded.

“Then what?” he asked.

Pastor Dupuis spread her arms wide in a gesture of benediction. “Then, you’re married,” she said simply. “I tell everybody that, you kiss your husband, and then...”

She nodded to the band leader, who jumped right into the chorus of the Isley Brothers’ “Shout”.

“Then you lead the way out the door,” the pastor said over the music, “and everybody follows. Hopefully dancing,” she added, shimmying a little to demonstrate.

They went over the order of the recessional — the grooms, the flower girl and best ladies, the best men, Sam’s parents — but the band kept playing, and Jody, obviously bored, ran over to her grandmother, asking to dance. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson got to their feet and danced along the aisle, setting off a chain reaction: Bucky spun and dipped Natasha, and Sarah and Jim took a few turns around the signing table. Steve let Sam tug him into a dance that had Steve tripping over his feet, until he was laughing too hard to continue. Caught up in the moment, he started taking video, passing his phone around to get shots of everyone, including himself giving Sam a big sloppy kiss on the cheek.

And that was how their wedding rehearsal turned into an impromptu dance party in the church.


	10. The Morning Of

Sam woke up panicking. He was in a strange room, a strange bed — too soft, he was sinking — without Steve, and someone was pounding on the door. He scrambled up, twisting to get his feet under him and tangling himself in the floral sheets in the process. He almost hit the floor — beige carpet — when strong hands caught his shoulders, held him steady.

“Sam,” Steve said. “Sam, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Sam blinked into Steve’s face, dream and reality colliding for a long second until his brain switched gears, and he remembered: they were in the guest room at his mother’s house. It was the day of their wedding.

“Steve,” Sam said finally. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Steve echoed, a faint smile showing through his concern. “Good morning, sweetheart. Happy wedding day.”

The person at the door knocked again — three faint, gentle thumps that sleep must have altered, exaggerated — but Steve didn’t react, didn’t even glance in that direction. Sam loved that about him, that singular focus, the way he could look at Sam and make him feel like he was the only person in the world.

“Happy wedding day to you, too, baby,” Sam said as he let Steve pull him to his feet. He ran a hand over his surprisingly sweaty face. “Hope tripping and falling isn’t how the rest of today will go.”

“Even if it is, it’ll still be perfect,” Steve murmured, kissing the back of Sam’s hand.

“You are such a sap,” Sam told him.

“You got me,” said Steve.

He leaned in and kissed Sam tenderly, his tongue slipping between Sam’s lips, his hands on Sam’s hips and easing around, creating warm points on contact on Sam’s lower back. Sam did the same, reaching back to grab a handful of Steve’s oh-so-perfect ass.

After a moment Sam stepped backwards, leading Steve to the bed, until he was on his back with Steve above him, bracketing and blanketing him. Steve looked down, watched Sam’s hand slip inside his boxers, and then sighed into another kiss, his eyes falling shut as Sam slowly stroked him.

But another knock had him pulling back, breathless. “We should probably...”

“Probably what?” Sam whispered. “It’s our wedding day, we’re allowed to sleep in.”

“Sleep?” Steve huffed, laughing a little. “You wanna sleep, Sam?”

Sam squeezed, cutting off Steve’s laughter. “In a manner of speaking.”

Steve bit his bottom lip and looked at the clock. “It is awfully early,” he agreed. “And we’re gonna be up late, so...”

“So we should stay in bed a little longer,” Sam suggested.

Steve nodded and kissed him in reply, deeper, hotter, wetter, his hips hitching forward with just a touch of desperation.

Eventually, the knocking stopped.

* * *

“I give up,” Wanda announced, stepping back into the kitchen. She sank into the chair next to Maria and sighed. “They’re not coming.”

Her words were punctuated by a roll of thunder, muted by the closed windows. Maria glanced up from painting her nails — like Natasha, she wasn’t one for the gel tips that Sarah was sporting — to check the clock. It was eleven — still technically early, since the ceremony didn’t start for four hours — but it was almost dark, the sky a dull navy blue behind vivid green trees.

It was sure to start raining soon, so Sam’s father had gone out to buy matching umbrellas for the wedding party. He’d taken Bucky and Jim with him, joking about getting the guys out from under the girls’ feet, but Maria had a feeling that the man whose son had come back from Afghanistan could recognize Bucky’s rising level of discomfort at the small house bustling with activity.

There were a lot of people in the kitchen, Maria had to admit, between herself, Natasha, Wanda, and Darlene, plus the photographer, Glorianna, and Gina, Darlene’s trusted esthetician. Sarah was in the living room with Jody, supposedly watching cartoons, though Jody kept dragging her mom through the kitchen like a puppy on her way to the dog park.

Gina had already done everyone’s hair and makeup except Jody’s — she was leaving her to the last second to minimize the chances that she’d ruin it before the ceremony — and she was now putting the finishing touches on Natasha’s makeup. Glorianna hovered nearby, snapping prep shots, while Darlene was at the counter, throwing together a plate of sandwiches with the leftover bacon from breakfast.

“I’ll go up again in a minute,” she said. “Haul those boys out by their ears if I have to.”

“Oh, Mama, let them be,” Sarah protested, as Jody burst past her in the doorway, making another trip from one end of the kitchen to the other. “It’s not like the wedding can start without them.”

“Wedding, wedding, wedding,” Jody squealed. 

“Still,” Darlene went on despite the noise. “They’ll be hungry, and you know they won’t get a minute to eat all day.”

“Can’t be late for the wedding,” Jody sang.

She skittered to a stop in front of Wanda and held up one hand for a high five, then she turned on her heel and raced back towards the living room, but her mother intercepted her.

“Okay, sweet pea,” Sarah said, crouching down. “You want an important flower girl mission? How about we go get the grooms?”

Jody took off, giggling, and Sarah turned to the adults in the room. “Maybe she can run the stairs a few times, burn off some of this energy.”

“Good luck with that,” Natasha told her somberly.

“Okay, you’re all done,” said Gina, stepping back, so Natasha could hop down from the stool she was perched on. “Wanda, sweetie, you want me to do you, too? I’ll give you the wedding party discount.”

Wanda glanced to Maria like she was asking permission, but Maria just shrugged. “Up to you.”

“All right,” said Wanda with a shy smile. She headed for the stool while Gina started interrogating her about the color of her dress.

“Here, let me do that,” Natasha murmured, sinking into the chair across from Maria. She took Maria’s right hand, and Maria slid the bottle of nail polish over. “Always easier to get someone else to do your dominant hand.”

Natasha gave her that soft smile that Maria wasn’t sure she’d ever get used to. Her skin was tingling slightly where Natasha was touching her, and it felt like her heart had skipped more than a couple of beats.

The garage door growled open a minute after Natasha was done — which was a blessing because she was blowing cool air over Maria’s fingertips with those full burgundy lips, and Maria’s mouth had gone very, very dry — and Sam’s father and Jim came in through the door with their arms full of pizza.

“Got lunch,” Jim announced. He and Paul set the boxes down on the counter, and Paul pecked his wife on the cheek.

“Boys not up yet?” he asked incredulously.

“Jody’s gone to fetch them,” Darlene replied. “Just put those anywhere, honey,” she added to Bucky, who was awkwardly carrying five large umbrellas and one tiny frilly one.

“Okay,” said Bucky uncertainly, his eyes darting around for a suitable place.

Natasha delicately set down Maria’s hand and got to her feet to help. “This is cute, Yasha,” she told him, holding up the little pale pink umbrella. “Perfect for Jody.”

“Actually that one’s for me,” Jim corrected her, deadpan.

“Ah,” said Natasha. She held it close to his face. “Yes, I can see how it brings out your eyes.”

“Where should I put the, uh, other stuff?” asked Bucky.

Maria glanced up to see him holding a plastic bag from the dollar store that contained dark red wrapping paper and a big silver bow.

“The picture’s in the dining room,” she told him. “Think you could wrap it? I would, but—”

She wiggled her still-wet nails to explain. Bucky just stared.

“We’ll get it,” said Jim, coming to her rescue. “Come on, Buck.”

Jim led the way into the other room, letting the door swing shut behind them, and they were just in time, too, because Steve and Sam appeared in the doorway from the living room a moment later, Sam carrying Jody on his hip and Steve holding a bag that Maria knew contained the wedding party and parent gifts. Sarah was just visible over their shoulder.

“There they are,” Darlene exclaimed. “The guests of honor have graced us with their presence at last.”

“Hi, Mama,” said Sam, grinning sheepishly.

“Good morning, Mrs. Wilson,” Steve said with a nod.

“How many times am I going to have to tell you to call me Mama?” Darlene asked, coming over to kiss each of them — and Jody — on the cheek. “Or Darlene, at least. I swear, after today, I’m gonna stop answering to that _Mrs. Wilson_ nonsense.”

“That gives me one more day, Mrs. Wilson,” Steve replied smoothly.

Darlene turned away, muttering something about Captain America giving her lip for the rest of her life, while Maria shoved aside some of the makeup and hair products, so the grooms could sit down.

“Everything going all right?” Steve asked her, the way he would with any other mission that might have gone off-course at a moment’s notice.

“All good, Cap,” she confirmed.

“Yeah, don’t tell anybody, but, once you get to this point, the bus pretty much drives itself,” Sarah put in. “Assuming all the parts keep moving, you’ve got nothing to do but sit back and enjoy it.”

“And eat,” Darlene added sternly. She set the plate of sandwiches down in front of Sam and Steve and pointed at them. “Bad enough you missed a meal already.”

Steve ducked his head, picking up a sandwich and biting into it, but not before Maria noticed his cheeks going pink. She shot Natasha a glance and was gratified to see that she was holding back a grin, too. They both knew exactly why the lovebirds had skipped breakfast.

“And that’s you,” Gina told Wanda. “Anyone else? Sammy? Steve?”

“Got a haircut two days ago in LA, Gina,” Sam replied. “But thanks.”

“Betrayal,” she muttered, packing up some of her supplies. Sam winked at her over his sandwich.

“If you want something to do, you can dye Steve’s hair pink,” he suggested.

“What?” Steve choked. “No, she can’t.”

“Come on, baby, you’re always saying you’re curious about whether the serum would let you,” Sam teased. “Today’s as good a day as any to find out.”

“Can’t do it,” Maria put in, as Bucky and Jim came through the swinging door from the dining room. “His checklist specifically says no hair experimentation within a week of the wedding.”

Gina arched an eyebrow. “Checklist?”

“Sam, don’t you think it’s time for presents? Now,” Steve added pointedly.

Sam laughed. “Okay, okay, presents it is.”

* * *

After they’d finished eating, they all trooped into the dining room, Jody leading the way. Everyone sat around the big table they’d shared last night, leaving two seats on one side for Sam and Steve. Steve pulled out Sam’s chair, which made Sam roll his eyes a little, even though he thought it was sweet. Steve settled beside him and stole a little kiss that, judging by the click, Glorianna managed to capture. Sam had learned during their engagement shoot that she was very good at sneaking photos, at catching them during off-guard moments and yet still somehow making them look great.

Steve set the bag of gifts on his lap and started digging through it, pulling out the wrapped packages and setting them on the table. Sam passed them out, and each group took turns opening them.

The girls went first, mainly because Jody was already quivering with excitement. They’d all received the same thing, a white gold heart pendant engraved with their first initial on one side and the wedding date on the back. Sarah fastened Jody’s around her neck, careful not to tangle it in her loose curls, and held up her phone so Jody could see how it looked. She snapped a selfie and gave Sam a huge, toothy grin.

“I love it,” she declared. “Thank you, uncles.”

Sam laughed. “You’re welcome, Jody Bean. Thanks for being the best flower girl ever.”

The guys opened theirs next — elegant wristwatches that were also engraved — and then Mama insisted that Dad open his before hers. He rolled his eyes but did it anyway, taking the lid off the box.

“What is it, Grandpa?” Jody asked.

Dad was staring down into the box and didn’t reply. At last he looked up and gave Sam a slightly watery smile as he pulled out the silver pocket watch.

“You remembered,” he said quietly. “All those years, and you remembered.”

Sam nodded, his throat tight. It was a tough memory, his dad getting jumped coming home from church one night. Thankfully, his father hadn’t been hurt too badly; Sam didn’t want to think about how different his life would be if his dad had been injured or died when he was sixteen.  The thieves took every cent out of his wallet, but what was worse was that they took the family heirloom in his pocket, Sam’s grandfather’s watch.

“We always said we’d get a new one, Pop,” Sam said. “Just took a little while.”

Dad nodded, and Sam knew that he wasn’t going to say anything else. A man of few words, but his look and smile spoke volumes.

“Your turn, Grandma,” Jody said abruptly, breaking the silence.

“All right, all right,” said Mama. She opened the box in front of her and gasped.

“You didn’t,” Sarah half-scolded, leaning over to check out the item in the box.

“I did,” Sam replied. Technically, Steve did, but they were a team, and from the look Steve was giving him, he was okay with sharing the credit for this one. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Mama held up the brooch for everyone to see. It was a small but ornate peacock feather, with enough pale blue and fuchsia plumes to complement Sam and Steve’s colors, plus a gemstone that matched the shade of the deep purple dress she’d be wearing later.

“Just had to have those peacock feathers, huh,” Dad remarked.

“Well, one, anyway,” said Mama, still beaming. She came around the table and hugged them both. “It’s gorgeous, baby, thank you.”

Steve smiled over at Sam, rubbing his thigh under the table, then glanced at the clock. “I guess we should probably start—”

“Not just yet,” said Sarah. She nodded to Bucky, who picked up two packages, one small and one large, that were leaning against the table leg. “One last thing.”

“What’s all this?” Steve asked, when Maria slid the gifts across the table.

“Open the little one first,” she instructed.

Steve handed it to Sam, who tore into it eagerly, expecting a watch or jewelry, judging from the size and heft of the package.

“A pen?” he asked when he freed it from the paper.

“A nice pen,” Steve corrected him, plucking it out of Sam’s hands. “A very nice pen. Thank you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Open the other one before you get too excited, Stevie.”

“Why? What is it?” Sam asked directly.

After a beat of silence, Natasha said, “It’s your guestbook.”

Sam felt his mouth fall open as the air in the room changed texture. Steve set down the pen. Slowly, carefully. Sam raised his eyes, turned his head, saw in Steve’s face the same hesitation that he was feeling.

By an unspoken agreement, the guestbook had remained an off-limits topic for the last twenty-four hours. For his part, Sam had decided he’d rather go without one than bring it up and risk falling back into the blame game that had started the argument in the first place. But now...

“It’s not a bomb,” Rhodey said after a moment, making everyone at the table chuckle a little nervously. “Just open it.”

Steve shrugged. _Here goes nothing_ , thought Sam as he nodded back. They picked at a corner of the large package and tore open the paper. It was too big to be a book, but still, Sam expected to see a leather cover — brown, or maybe white. Instead, it was a picture frame, oak, if Sam had to guess, with a blank piece of cardboard in it.

“Uh,” said Steve.

“Is this a metaphor?” Sam asked Natasha.

She seemed to be struggling to keep a straight face, but she glared at Bucky and shook her head. No one said a word, but Mama was recording Sam and Steve with Sarah’s phone.

Sam sent Steve a baffled look and got one in return, but he eased the frame out of the burgundy paper. That was when he caught sight of what was beneath it.

“Oh my—” Steve exhaled.

“God,” Sam finished.

Below the frame, enlarged and printed on elegant ivory paper, was Steve’s sketch — Sam with his wings angled downward, Steve safe in his arms, both of them looking up in awe at the banner proclaiming #CapLovesFalcon above them. It was still as beautiful and breathtaking as it was the first time Sam saw it. More so, even, surrounded by a smooth cream mat cut to fit the frame.

“Guys,” Steve choked. Sam looked over, his vision a little blurry, to see Steve blinking furiously down at his own work. “This is—”

“That’s not a book, that’s a picture,” Jody interjected suddenly.

“Jody,” Sarah scolded, while everyone at the table burst out laughing. “What did I tell you about interrupting the grown-ups today?”

“Sorry, Mommy,” she said quickly.

“Kid’s got a point, though,” Gina put in. She eyed the picture skeptically. “How is that a guestbook?”

“The guests sign the mat,” Maria explained. “Then Sam and Steve put the picture up on the wall as a keepsake.”

Sam nodded, picturing it. It would feel right, he decided, to have the signatures of their friends and loved ones surrounding this image, the same way that it felt right to share that picture of Steve’s tiny surprised smile when they announced their engagement all those months ago.

“That is so cool,” he murmured.

“It is. Thank you,” Steve said again, softer and more earnest.

“Rhodey wanted to get you a piñata,” Natasha announced. “Luckily I talked him out of it.”

“I did not want to get you a piñata,” Rhodey protested, rolling his eyes. “I wanted fingerprint art, but Little Miss Paranoid over there vetoed it.”

As they started to bicker, and Maria chimed in with something about a wishing well and rocks with people’s names on them, Sam gazed down at the picture and let their voices fade away.

It had meant so much, finding this picture on his nightstand a few days after the PR incident that had prompted Steve’s original — terrible — marriage proposal. Sam would be grateful to hang this picture in their bedroom. It would serve to remind them that no matter what, they should still hold on to each other, that together was the best way to fly.

He reached out and touched the picture’s satiny surface, tracing the lines of Steve’s sketch. Steve did the same, their fingers brushing until Sam turned his wrist and took hold of Steve’s hand.

“You okay?” Steve murmured.

Sam nodded. “I’m good.”

“Good.” Steve started to say something else, but Mama interrupted.

“Oh my lord, look at the clock,” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to get moving if this wedding’s gonna start on time.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Steve said seriously, though he didn’t take his eyes off Sam. He got to his feet, pulling Sam with him. “Here we go.”

* * *

There were only two sights in the world that Steve loved more than Sam in his Falcon uniform. One was Sam stretched out naked in their bed, but Steve had already seen that once today, and he looked forward to seeing it again later — Sam would be his husband then, he realized, his stomach doing a perfect backflip. The other sight was Sam in a suit. Particularly this suit. The dark gray material had been tailored perfectly for Sam’s broad shoulders and solid thighs, not to mention the fact that his ass looked fantastic.

The photographer had knocked and come in a few minutes ago, and the weirdness of being photographed while only half-dressed faded quickly as she made them laugh. She seemed to have a gift for that, and as Steve sat on the bed, watching Sam knot his tie — which wasn’t burgundy, it was marsala, no matter what Sam said — Steve hoped that the blissful calm he was feeling would translate well to film.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Sam asked him, meeting Steve’s gaze in the mirror.

“A penny?’ Steve repeated. “Thought with inflation it’d be up to a dollar by now.”

“Fine, a dollar then,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “Either way, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Steve shrugged. “Nothing,” he said honestly.

“Nothing?” Sam repeated. He turned, and Glorianna snapped another photo.

“Just happy,” Steve insisted.

“It’s a happy day,” Sam agreed.

He picked the box up off the dresser, and Steve swapped him for the gift that was beside him on the bedspread. There was no mystery; they’d picked the cufflinks out together, but Steve still smiled when he saw them, gold and white against the black velvet lining. Sam’s were silver and black, to match his ring, which Bucky currently had; Sarah had Steve’s.

Steve touched his thumb to the inside of his finger; it felt strange to be without his ring, even when he knew he’d be getting it back soon enough.

Sam noticed the movement and mirrored it. “I miss mine, too.”

Steve nodded. There was a quick knock, and the bedroom door, which was only half-closed, swung inward. Sam’s father walked in and beamed at both of them.

“Ready, boys?”

“Almost,” Sam told him. “Just have to get my old, new, borrowed, and blue things on.”

Steve chuckled. It had seemed like such a silly idea when he’d suggested it a few months ago, but once they got into it, it was actually kind of fun.

“Well, I’ve got your old right here,” Sam’s dad told him, pulling something small and silver out of his pocket. “My dad’s,” he said to Steve, showing him the tie clip. “I wore it on my wedding day.”

Glorianna snapped photos of Sam’s father securing the tie with the silver clip, while Steve took his own out of his pocket. It was gold, the one that he’d worn with his brown serge uniform in the war. He wasn’t sure why — maybe because he could still remember the smell of Peggy’s perfume from that day it fell off and she reattached it for him — but it felt right to wear it today.

“Let me help you there, son,” said Mr. Wilson, coming over to do Steve’s clip, too.  

“Thanks,” Steve said, lifting his chin.

His throat was tight, the same way it got whenever Sam’s mother insisted he call her Mama. It was still a little overwhelming, being so readily welcomed into Sam’s family.

“Now,” said Mr. Wilson, stepping back, breaking the quiet emotional spell that had settled in the room. “The cufflinks.”

Once they were attached, Sam’s looked even nicer with his suit than Steve had anticipated, and the glint of his own kept distracting him in a pleasant way. Sam wrapped his arms around Steve from behind, hugging him tight, for another few photos, his neatly trimmed beard tickling the side of Steve’s neck, making him laugh as Glorianna clicked away.

“Okay, that’s old and new,” said Sam, after they’d disentangled a little reluctantly. “And I’ve got your pendant on, Dad, under my shirt. Steve, you got Bucky’s worry stone?”

Steve patted his pocket, where the flat piece of hematite was a comforting weight. “Yep.”

“Good. So that just leaves blue,” Sam concluded.

Steve handed him the folded navy socks that were at the end of the bed. They matched the shade of Steve’s tie exactly, just like Steve’s marsala socks matched Sam’s tie. When they were done, Sam sat beside Steve and they started lacing up their shiny shoes.

“Okay,” said Mr. Wilson with another proud smile. “Looks like you two are all set to get married.”

Sam grinned over at Steve, and Steve knew what he was about to say, the words that had started them on this wild, winding journey seven months ago.

“You ready?”

“I’m ready if you are,” Steve replied. There was no other answer he’d ever give.


	11. The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are interested, I did make a playlist for this fic, including all the songs from the wedding, plus a few more. Listen to it on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLYn3HS2g7UJFagiXLVV8UpnAQ2tQcWuCs), but not until you finish reading (it might spoil a surprise!).
> 
> Also, I made a board on [Pinterest](https://www.pinterest.com/mrsdawnaway/fake-wedding/) if you'd like some visual references.

No doubt about it, Sam thought, Sarah was right: the bus drove itself, and it went at breakneck speed.

Everything after leaving the bedroom with Steve became kind of a blur. One moment Sam was in the kitchen, waiting for Mama to snip the stamens off the bouquets and boutonnieres — _Flower pollen is a permanent stain, Samuel, and you do want to wear this suit again, don’t you?_ — so Glorianna could get a good shot of her attaching it to his lapel. The next moment, Sam was crowded in the back of the church with Steve, behind the rest of the wedding party, waiting for their song to start while the last few guests filtered in.

Sam wanted to say something, to wish Steve luck, maybe, as ridiculous as that seemed, but suddenly there wasn’t any time because the band was starting and the pastor was telling everybody to stand. Then Jody took her first steps down the aisle, and Steve kissed him on the cheek, quick and light like a sudden breeze.

“On your left,” he said under his breath.

“On your right,” Sam replied.

Rhodey glared at them over his shoulder. “Why can’t you guys just say _I love you_ like normal people?”

“I love you, Rhodey,” Sam said sincerely.

Natasha and Sarah started giggling, just like they did last night, just in time to go down the aisle. Rhodey and Bucky followed a moment later, Rhodey still shaking his head.

Finally, their song hit that perfect note. Steve’s grin was bright and beautiful, and Sam just had to kiss him for it. A moment later they were heading up to the altar and—

— _goddamn_ , that was a lot of people, a lot of phones and cameras, and even more eyes, watching his every move. Sam felt like he was in a cage at the zoo, and his foot slipped on the very first step, but Steve caught him.

“I got you, keep smiling,” he said through his teeth, and all he needed was to be in black and white, and Sam would believe that he was walking down the aisle with Captain America, the movie star.

Then Steve glanced into his eyes, and that flash was gone. He was just Steve, Sam’s Steve, on their wedding day. Sam squeezed his hand, and he didn’t trip again the whole way to the altar.

The music faded out, the guests took their seats, and the pastor started to speak. Sam let her words wash over him, words about trust and commitment and faith, in God, in each other. He didn’t look out at the crowd, hardly noticed anything other than Steve’s blue eyes and the soft, warm weight of his hands in his, until the pastor quietly cleared her throat, and Sam realized that she’d just said his name.

“Sorry, where were we?” he mumbled, eliciting a chuckle from the first few rows of pews, the guests who could hear him.

“I asked if you were ready to declare your intent, before God and these witnesses, to take Steve as your husband,” Pastor Dupuis said softly, giving him a little smile that told Sam that it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Oh. Uh, sure,” he stammered. Steve raised his eyebrows, clearly biting back a laugh, so Sam added, a little more loudly, “Yes, I am.”

The pastor winked and raised her voice again, asking first Sam and then Steve the important questions, to which their answers were the same—

“I do.”

—and after answering, Sam repeated after the pastor the lines they’d gone over last night, lines that promised that he’d support Steve and accept support from Steve, celebrate Steve’s triumphs and mourn Steve’s losses as though they were his own, love Steve and have faith in Steve’s love, through all that life might bring them.

While Sam listened to himself speak, part of him was concentrating to make sure he didn’t screw anything up, but the rest of him was in awe, realizing only when Steve started to say it all back that this was really happening, that they were going to be tied together now, no matter what. It was an exhilarating, comforting thought.

Then Steve slid Sam’s ring on his finger, the way he had all those months ago, and Sam sighed in relief at the familiar weight of it. Sam put Steve’s on, they signed the paperwork, and then—

“I now pronounce you married. You may seal your union with a kiss.”

—Steve was kissing him with an intensity that knocked Sam off-kilter. They hadn’t rehearsed this part, Sam realized, but he heard Glorianna’s camera — as well as a bunch of others — go off, so he closed his eyes and went with it.

So what if it was a little sloppy? His husband was kissing him, and that was all that mattered.

* * *

After a brief photo shoot in a secluded corner of the park — _A photographer’s dream_ , Glorianna had called it, since there was no rain, but the sun wasn’t bright enough to cast harsh shadows or cause people to squint — Steve found himself crowded with Sam and the wedding party at the back of the reception hall, waiting for another musical cue. He had a flash of déjà vu; this whole ordeal felt at times a lot like his old dog and pony show for the USO: move here, say this, look there, smile, smile, smile.

Except for the fact that he had Sam at his side, and there was a light, airy feeling in his chest that had started at the first _I do_ and showed no signs of disappearing any time soon.

Everyone cheered and clapped when Steve and Sam appeared, almost loud enough to drown out the song that Sam had chosen, Jackie Wilson’s “Higher and Higher.” Steve knew all the words by now — Sam had listened to it again and again, contrasting it with other possibilities, like Stevie Wonder and James Brown, until Steve had teased him about who of the two of them was more meticulous about wedding details.

He hummed along as they half-walked, half-danced to the front of the room, and when they reached the table for two that was waiting for them, Steve stepped to the side and spun Sam impulsively, borrowing a move that they were going to use in their dance later. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise when Steve dipped him, too, and tried to kiss him, but they were laughing too hard.

“I hope you don’t think this means I’m letting you lead,” he said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve replied. “Everybody knows which of us is the better dancer.”

“Damn straight,” Sam agreed. He winked. “In a manner of speaking.”

They took their seats, and everyone did the same. Maria, who’d decided to take on the role of MC, made a couple of announcements. Steve wasn’t really listening; he scanned the crowd, smiling when people made eye contact with him. He found Tony — or, rather, Tony’s back— beside Jim and felt a wave of gratitude that they’d decided against a head table for the wedding party and their significant others. As much as he liked the idea that Tony had come to the wedding, sitting three chairs down from him for an entire meal would be awkward.

“Oh, thank God,” Sam practically moaned, when the caterers set his plate down in front of him. “I’m starving.”

“Skipping breakfast maybe wasn’t such a good idea after all,” Steve agreed.

They set to eating, but Steve had barely cut into his chicken when someone clinked their glass, and he had to kiss his husband. He rolled his eyes and leaned in to press his lips against Sam’s.

“Speaking of terrible ideas...” Sam said less than a minute later when it happened again.

They got through the meal, finally, and the caterers were still whisking their plates away when Sam got to his feet.

“Ready to make the rounds?” he asked.

The thought of a receiving line had given both of them serious funeral flashbacks, so they’d opted to greet everyone over dinner instead. Steve nodded.

They headed to the first table, where Sam’s immediate family was sitting with an older couple and a lanky blonde man who got to his feet when everyone else did, but hung back.

“Hey,” he said to Steve, while everyone was busy gushing with Sam. “I know we’ve never met, but...”

“Finn, right?” Steve said. There was no one else he could be.

“That’s me,” the man replied, rubbing his palms on his thighs. “And you’re Cap—”

“Steve,” Steve corrected him. He bit his tongue a little and offered Finn his hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Yeah.” Finn pulled his hand back and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Look, I owe you an explanation. And an apology.”

Steve glanced over at Sam, currently on the other side of the table embracing his father. He thought about telling Finn that he really ought to be saying this to Sam instead, but the young man was already talking again, his voice a low anxious stream over the noise of the room.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said. “I shouldn’t have agreed to do it in the first place. The best man thing, I mean. I f— uh, I mean, I _messed_ up,” he corrected himself quickly, like he thought Steve couldn’t abide cursing. It was something Steve had grown used to, but he still didn’t like it.

“Everybody fucks up,” Steve told him bluntly. He was careful to keep his voice low enough that Jody wouldn’t hear, though; Sarah would never forgive him if she picked up that kind of talk from him.

Finn glanced up, maybe a little surprised at the swear word, but he nodded. “If I’d had my head on straight, I might’ve thought about how hard it would be, standing in for my brother. Being involved, it— it brought up a lot of sh— _stuff_ that I thought I’d dealt with.”

Steve’s eyes drifted to the next table, where Bucky seemed to be telling the descendants of the Howling Commandos and Peggy’s family tall tales about the war. Steve swallowed around the lump in his throat and looked away again. He rested a hand on Finn’s shoulder, causing him to look up, startled.

“It’s all right,” Steve said. “I understand. Lost a few people myself, and it never really goes away.”

After a moment, Finn sniffed and shook his head like he was trying to clear it. “So, be honest,” he said with half a smile. “How much do you hate me?”

Steve chuckled, surprised. “I don’t hate you, Finn. Just don’t hurt my husband ever again, okay?” he couldn’t help adding, since Sam was coming around the table.

“Is he making threats?” Sam asked, his tone jovial, though Steve could hear the slight edge of worry in it. “I told him not to do that.”

“Only a little one,” Steve protested. He raised his eyebrows, asking Sam a silent question, and Sam nodded, so Steve stepped away, to give Sam and Finn a minute.

He shook hands with Finn’s parents and embraced Mr. and Mrs.— Paul and Darlene. He’d just kissed Sarah on the cheek when he heard a little shout and found himself with his arms full of flower girl.

“Can I come with you?” she demanded, squirming back so she was facing him.

“Come with me where, Jody Bean?” he asked, the nickname slipping out before he’d consciously decided to use it.

“Around the room to say hello to everybody,” she said, like it was obvious.

Steve sent Sarah a look, and Sarah shrugged. “She’s done her dinner.”

“Okay,” Steve said. “But here, we’re doing it like this.”

He shifted her up until she was riding his shoulders. Steve was glad Sarah had put her in a little pantsuit for dinner; the crinoline of her flower girl dress would have been maddeningly itchy against his neck.

“Steve,” Sam said in surprise, when Steve and Jody circled back around the table to where he was still standing with Finn. “You got taller.”

“Sure did,” Steve agreed, while Jody giggled. “You good?”

Sam nodded. He clasped Finn’s hand and pulled him in to bump shoulders, before he came up to Steve and gave Jody a high five.

“Need a minute?” Steve asked him softly, as Jody made little horse noises over their heads.

“I’m good,” Sam replied, kissing Steve quickly like he couldn’t help it, being so close. “I’ll take my minute when you take yours, which I’m thinking will be after table four.”

Steve glanced in that direction, caught Tony’s eye for the briefest second before he looked away. “Fair enough.”

“Giddy up!” cried Jody.

“Yeah, horse, let’s go,” Sam agreed, his grin returning. He lowered his voice. “So many dirty jokes I could make right now.”

“Shush,” Steve said, though he knew as well as Sam that he wouldn’t actually say anything scandalous in front of Jody.

They made their way to the next table, Steve introducing Peggy’s family to Sam — with the exception of Sharon, sitting a few tables over with Carol — who hadn’t seen them since Peggy’s wake. Steve also had the very great pleasure of introducing Sam to some of the descendants of his original team — James Falsworth’s grandson, Brian; Dum Dum's grandson, Nicholas; Jim Morita’s granddaughter, Hallie, and her husband. And, of course, Maggie.

“Maggie Martinelli,” she said brightly, shaking Sam’s hand. “I’m kinda like Peggy’s granddaughter.”

“Kinda?” Sam repeated.

“Let’s just say, wrong side of the sheets?” Maggie explained, her eyes twinkling mischievously. “Grandmum and Peg were close, kinda like you and Steve are close,” she added with a wink. “Grandmum never did marry, though, so Mum spent a lot of time at Peg’s when she was growing up. Said she was her other mother. That’s where I got my name from.”

Steve was grinning as Sam nodded, obviously trying to wrap his head around the bubbly flow of words that had just ended. Steve liked this young woman’s easy charm and brilliant smile; she had a sort of light that everyone could see. If her grandmother had been anything like her, he could see why Peggy might have fallen for her. Nicholas Dugan, for his part, seemed absolutely smitten, leaning in, his elbows on the table, not seeming to notice that he was about to knock over the gravy boat. Natasha met Steve’s eye with a smirk, and she moved it out of his way. Nicholas didn’t even blink.

After another few minutes of hugs and hellos, Sam led the way to the third table, which was full of his extended family. Sam took his turn at making the introductions and re-introductions; Steve had met most of the Wilson clan at the engagement party last month, but he still didn’t trust himself to get their names right on the first try. Steve felt a twinge of apprehension when Sam’s grandparents rose, tall and stoic, to greet him, but Gideon merely shook his hand, and Florence kissed him on the cheek. She was a little more expressive with Jody, who scrambled down from Steve’s shoulders for a hug, and with Sam, obviously, though whatever she murmured in Sam’s ear had him nodding seriously.

“Thanks, Nana,” he said quietly, letting her go. “I’ll remember that.”

“Back up, Uncle Steve?” Jody asked, tugging on Steve’s pant leg.

“Back up,” Steve agreed, lifting her again.

“I can take her,” Sam offered. “If your arms are tired.”

“I can do this all day,” Steve replied, which made Sam roll his eyes a little.

“Yeah, yeah. Speaking of stubborn, you ready for table four?”

Steve nodded and headed in that direction, not letting himself hesitate. He and Sam greeted everyone at the table — Vision, Wanda, Carol, Sharon, Pepper — before turning at last to Jim and Tony.

Steve took a deep breath and dredged up a smile as he extended his hand. “Tony.”

Tony seemed to hesitate a moment, then he shook it. “Steve,” he said, not looking at him. “Sam. Congratulations. And, before you can ask, no, Rhodey did not guilt me into coming.”

Behind Tony, Jim held up his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Steve watched Sam suppress a smile as he shook Tony’s hand as well.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here,” Sam told him seriously.

Steve nodded, relieved and comforted as he always was when Sam spoke for both of them like that. He wasn’t sure that _glad_ would be the exact word he’d use to describe his feelings about Tony attending their wedding — he thought he probably needed a few more polysyllables to capture the tangled mess in his head and heart — but it worked.

“I’m glad you were able to find me a seat,” Tony countered. “When I saw that you put the King of Wakanda at table five, I figured I’d be out of luck.”

Steve huffed out a little laugh. That’d been a small point of contention between him and Sam when they were arranging the seats, too. “Well,” he began to explain, but Tony waved a hand.

“Anyway,” he said carelessly. “Nice ceremony, good wine, terrible music, happy to be here.”

Steve blinked. He’d been away from Tony too long — he’d forgotten how quickly the man’s mind could travel. But Sam was nodding, not protesting Tony’s comment about the music, to Steve’s surprise; he’d worked very hard on crafting their wedding playlist.

“Right,” he said simply. “Thank you for coming.”

“Had to bury that hatchet sooner or later, right, Cap?” Tony replied, turning at last to look Steve in the eye. “Though, you never did call me. Kept that crappy old flip phone in my desk for months, you know. You wanna talk embarrassing....”

Steve felt his smile get a little crisp around the edges. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but phones do work both ways.”

Tony’s face hardened, and he drew in a breath, and in that second Steve saw what was coming, heard the tirade that Tony was about to launch into, right here, in the middle of Steve’s wedding, in an attempt to make the whole world stop in its tracks to notice just how badly he was the wronged party. Steve felt the fight brewing in himself, too, the muscles in his legs tightening like he would need to spring into action at any second. The layout of the room flashed in front of his eyes, a tactical map imposing itself over the candles and fairy lights, as his mind made calculations, how to get everyone out when things inevitably escalated, when Tony went for his suit.

But then Sam touched Steve’s hand, a feather-soft brush of skin, and Steve exhaled. Tony did, too, and Jody, still above Steve’s head, squirmed. Steve remembered where he was, remembered the point of this conversation. He reached up, lifted Jody off his shoulders, and handed her to Sam.

“I’m sorry,” he said to Tony, deliberately not thinking about how annoying it was that he would always have to be the bigger man with Tony and take the higher road.

Tony looked him up and down without replying, until Jim poked him in the side. “Ow,” he muttered, turning slightly. “Fine. I’m sorry too, okay?”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. He shuffled awkwardly, then added, “I guess we should—”

“Yeah,” said Tony, stepping back and gesturing towards the next table.

“Yeah,” Steve repeated.

He shook Jim’s hand after he and Sam had embraced and waved to everyone at the table. Wanda blew them a kiss in return, and they moved on, making a detour to bring Jody back to Sarah when Jody sighed and announced that she was bored.

“You all right?” Sam murmured as they were walking away.

“I think so,” Steve replied. “That went about as well as could be expected.”

“It’s a start,” Sam agreed. He rubbed Steve’s lower back a second, then put on what Steve had started to think of as his wedding smile. “Ready for the Cat-Man?”

“Sam,” Steve rebuked, more out of habit than anything else.

“Sorry,” Sam said quickly. “I mean, His Royal Highness, the Cat-Man?”

Steve just shook his head, putting on his own wedding smile as they came up to T’Challa’s table. The king and two elegantly dressed women got to their feet as Steve and Sam reached them. T’Challa greeted them with the somber regal tone that Steve had come to expect, while the three Dora Milaje, still seated, watched them closely, which Steve had also come to expect.

“Congratulations, Captain, Sam,” he said, shaking each of their hands in turn. “You have arranged a beautiful wedding.”

“Thanks, man. Glad you could make it,” Sam replied, casual as ever. The women on either side of T’Challa narrowed their eyes slightly.

“You remember my sister, Shuri,” T’Challa said half-turning to her.

“Hello again,” Steve greeted her. She nodded seriously in reply.

“And may I present the Lady Ororo,” T’Challa added, gesturing towards the woman on his right.

“Madam,” Steve said formally, taking her hand when she offered it. “Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having me,” she said. She leaned in, kissed Steve and Sam on both cheeks. “And congratulations again. I look forward to the rest of the evening.”

“You and the king here gonna cut a rug?” Sam asked with a grin.

“I am indeed a skilled dancer,” said T’Challa. His mouth was tilted in that way that Steve had come to interpret as amused.

“Why am I not surprised,” Sam muttered.

“Cut a rug?” Steve repeated, once they’d bid T’Challa and his table goodbye and headed for the next batch of guests. “You’re starting to talk like an old man, Sam.”

Sam poked him in the ribs for that. “Been hanging around you too much.”

Steve laughed and grabbed Sam’s hand, pulling it around his waist. “Then I’ve got some bad news for you, sweetheart,” Steve told him. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Good,” said Sam.

He pressed himself to Steve’s side, casually trusting Steve to keep him steady, and Steve did. He always would.

* * *

Later, after everyone’s toasts went on too long because they all promised they’d keep it brief; after a first dance — a foxtrot to Frank Sinatra’s “The Best Is Yet To Come” — that Sam could hear Steve counting the steps to under his breath; after they cut into the blue and burgundy — _Seriously, Sam, just once, can you call the color by its name?_ — okay, fine, after they cut into the blue and marsala cake topped with tiny Cap and Falcon action figures; after they linked arms and sipped champagne and somehow Sam managed not to slop it all down the front of his suit; after all this and plenty more dancing and drinking, Sam heard the DJ make an announcement.

“Okay, folks, this’ll be the last song of the night, and it’s a special request from one groom to the other. Sam, Steve says you might know this one. So everybody have one more dance, thank you for coming, and have a great night!”

Suddenly Steve was at his elbow. “May I have this dance?”

“Of course,” Sam told him with a grin.

They made their way on to the floor, and Sam let Steve lead as he listened to the opening bars of piano. The song was familiar, but he couldn’t quite—

_Why do birds suddenly appear  
Every time you are near?_

“Oh, no. As if,” Sam muttered. “Who told you about this song?”

Steve led them into a turn, barely keeping a straight face. “Guess you could say—”

Too late, Sam realized what he’d walked into. “Don’t say it. Don’t you—”

“—a little birdie told me.”

Sam shook his head. “You are such an asshole,” he said fondly.

“Maybe,” said Steve, fully grinning now. He ducked in and brushed a kiss across Sam’s lips. “But you’re the one who married me.”

Sam sighed, but he couldn’t help the enormous smile spreading across his face. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I did.”

* * *

In a secluded corner of the reception hall, Maria Hill smiled and lowered her phone. The video wasn’t long, but it had captured enough: the bird lyrics, Sam’s scowl that turned into a grin, the couple’s slow steps and even slower kisses.

“Eat your heart out, Internet,” Maria said, as she posted the video on the official Avengers page.

“Ready to get out of here?” asked Natasha, who’d silently appeared at her side.

“Almost. Just one more thing,” Maria told her. She pressed the power button, held it until her phone switched off. “Now I am.”

“Good.” Natasha kissed Maria’s cheek and slid an arm around her lower back. “Then let’s go.”

#CapLovesFalcon broke Twitter that night, but Maria was too busy planning a vacation with Natasha to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU to everyone who asked for this. Without you, there would be no fic. 
> 
> Special thanks to [pizzadog20](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzadog20/pseuds/pizzadog20), [trash4ficsaboutlurv](http://archiveofourown.org/users/trash4ficsaboutlurv/pseuds/trash4ficsaboutlurv), and [Rubynye](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye) for support and encouragement on Tumblr. Thanks as well to Clementine for reading it through (sorry for the Civil War spoilers!) and a huge thank you for the new-and-improved ending you suggested in the eleventh hour.
> 
> And, of course, much love to my beta, who provided near-constant insight. Thank you for letting me ramble on about Sam and Steve's wedding for hours/days at a time, and thank you for working through it with me when I hit my inevitable crisis of faith in the last few chapters. 
> 
> I am on [Tumblr](http://mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com) if you want to come and say hello! Also, stay tuned for #DeletedScenes (just in case 39,000 words of SamSteve wedding stuff wasn't enough for you!).


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